


The Arbitrary Nature of the Mind

by aristotle_chipotle



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Ariadne x being a strong independent woman, Cobb+Arthur+Ariadne mental health power trio, Dom Cobb Being an Asshole, Domestic Fluff, Drug Withdrawal, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Inception 2: Everybody Gets Therapy, Internal Conflict, Light Angst, Married Characters, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Misunderstandings, Multi, Past Character Death, Post-Canon, Post-Inception, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sad with a Happy Ending, Schizophrenia, Team as Family, sir that's my emotional support architect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26913586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aristotle_chipotle/pseuds/aristotle_chipotle
Summary: Five years later, Cobb has a sudden, inexplicable urge to dream again. All he has to do is find his team, do one more job, and he'll be satisfied. At least, that's what he tells himself.There's just one problem. Cobb's teammates don't seem too eager to be found.
Relationships: Arthur/Dom Cobb, Dom Cobb/Mal Cobb (past), Eames/Saito (Inception)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

It started as an itch.

Years, since that feeling, since that itch. A desire as fierce as an undercurrent, not overwhelming, but tugging gently until he found himself in deep water with no shore in sight. And there he was, in the midst of a feeling he thought he'd buried long ago.

After a while, the exploration of the subconscious mind isn't something you take lightly. It starts as a game, sort of. A test of skill, and of pushing yourself to your limits, testing powers you never thought were possible. You can raise entire cities from the imagination and level them just as fast. You can explore worlds that do not exist. You can, if you are very skilled, implant an idea deep in another person's mind.

Dom Cobb knew all this. He'd seen it in action. He'd lived it. And these very powers were what tore him apart.

Houses could be built. Houses could be shredded to nothing but wood and trash.

People could be imagined. People could turn on you.

Lives could be changed. Lives could be ruined.

So why was there an itch?

It had been five years since the last job, the one that counted for so many reasons. He did admit he remembered it fondly. Not the experience, but what happened after. He remembered the euphoria of going home and staying home, where he'd stayed ever since. Having a home to call his was more than enough, but then he got the incredible honor and pleasure of watching his children grow up. James and Phillipa didn't care where he'd been. They never knew, and he planned on keeping it that way. What was past was past, he believed, and it should stay there. All his family cared about now was where they were, and where they were going. It was all he'd promised himself he would care about from the moment he set foot in the airport that day.

So why was there an itch?

Maybe it started when he untied all past baggage and swore to move on. He remembered that same year, getting a desk job at laughable pay. No connections, he'd promised himself. No phone calls. He would start from scratch and work his way back up. He'd only accept support when desperately needed, which thankfully wasn't often. He'd become so hopelessly involved in the present, he'd have no choice to forget about the past.

Had he tried to start over too soon? Had he sacrificed his gradual recovery for his pride? Was it a shock of icy water that had gotten to his nerves? He could only guess.

Or maybe it was the fact that he still believed she was there.

When he'd first returned and tried to go back to normal, he'd half expected to struggle with the house, and the familiarity of it all. But no, strangely, Mal's ghost was not in the house. He'd seen her too recently, and part of his mind didn't seem to register that she was gone. It was what he whispered to the children every night when they asked stubborn questions, but did he believe it?

No, Mal's ghost was still in the dreams. He remembered the gentle embrace of artificial sleep, and the vivid dreams he dreamed only then, and how she always seemed to appear. It was unhealthy. It was destructive. He'd given it up. Dreams were the past, and this was the future, and every night he went to sleep and woke up almost instantly, time passing freely without the hallucinations to pad it. Sun would stream through the window, and he'd go about his day.

Not once did he admit it, but he missed the familiarity of the dream. The scenes, frozen in time, organized in his subconscious like a filing cabinet. All he had to do was remember...

But most likely, he thought, it was the money. His stubborn refusal to accept aid from friends and relatives, even if they'd offered any, was what brought the sudden search for work, and the realization that he'd buried himself in the extraction process for too long. The world had passed him by, and there he was, desperately fighting a mortgage and looking for answers. Phillipa was in school and needed supplies. The car needed repairs.

If it had been any one of these things, he would have been fine. He would have been able to move on. He'd been alone before. He'd needed money before. But with every change in circumstances came that overwhelming feeling that drained his energy and replaced all his waking thoughts with those of a young extractor, eager for his next job. It wasn't him. It was some part of his mind that was hungry for more, and he wasn't sure how to fight it.

It was unnatural, he thought, closing his eyes and never dreaming.

Maybe it was science. Maybe the mind needed dreams somehow, and didn't care how it got them. Maybe his mental state was deteriorating with every moment he spent away from the dream world. Or had he stayed so long that this world didn't feel right? It was strange going outside, seeing the skyline of the city far in the distance, and not being able to alter it with a thought. Sometimes he caught himself staring for hours without realizing it, like his mind refused to believe it was no longer in control of the world.

Maybe, he thought, one last taste was all he needed to be satisfied for a lifetime. Just once more under the effects of the serum.

One more dream.

One more job.

At first, the intrusive thoughts came, and he blocked them out just as quickly. But after some time, there was a comfort in them. He allowed himself to imagine it again, and he delighted in this. He drew diagrams late at night, when the children were asleep and oblivious. He lost sleep, but he didn't care. The imagining of it gave him comfort.

One more dream.

One more job.

If he were to enter the community again, he'd have an unmatched prestige. That same respect that his teammates were surely enjoying by now. His teammates. He hadn't contacted them in years. He'd left them on the plane with Mal.

They had performed inception. This was no small thing. Surely the word had spread, and his teammates were up to their eyes in new offers. He had coordinated the thing, and they would vouch for him. If he could get everyone together for just one last time, they would understand.

One more dream.

One more job.

That was where it would end, he promised himself. That was his mantra. One more. One more. Enough money to never have to worry about money again. Enough time to feel what he hadn't felt for years. One more was the only idea that justified this urge to play with time and space.

There was nothing wrong with wanting one more. No, it wasn't legal, but he'd never been caught, and he never would. He was better than that. It wasn't an unwanted urge, it was a choice. He could quit at any time, but he didn't need to quit just yet. It was a perfectly rational choice. There was no harm done if he could get in and out within the week.

He didn't even realize he'd made up his mind until he had already made up his mind, and there was no going back.

One week. One dream. One job. That was all he needed.

Cobb was out of the loop, so to speak. He hadn't had those little hints as to who needed what, or what wealthy benefactors were hiring. It wasn't the kind of information people haphazardly posted on the internet. It was the kind of information you got from others in the job.

So it would be one week. That was what he promised his father-in-law as he packed on Saturday. One week, and if he found nothing, there would be nothing, and he'd know it wasn't meant to be. He didn't tell Miles where he was going, of course, but as they said their goodbyes, Cobb could shake the feeling that Miles knew. Maybe it was just paranoia, but there was something in the way he had so firmly gripped Cobb's hand as he wished him luck. A warning, Cobb thought. A reminder of all he had to lose, in case he forgot.

James was already in bed the night he left, but Phillipa had stayed up late to see him off. She stared up at him with round eyes, full of wonder, and asked where he was going.

"Not far, kiddo. I'm just going to take a trip and see if I can find a better job. I promise I'll be back before you can miss me."

It tore him apart to close the door on the taxi, and to wave goodbye, but any sadness aching in his chest was swept away by the tide of that deep desire that had brought him here. Everything was justified, he told himself as he drove away, hands sweating as he pressed them against his briefcase. Everything was justified. Now, life could be normal again. All it would take was one more, and he'd never need it again.

But before he could find that one more, he had to find Arthur.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cobb pays a visit to an old haunt and discovers that something isn't quite right.

There was a hotel in the capital. If you got out of the airport and took a bus or a taxi downtown, you couldn't miss it. It wasn't a bad place, either. They had good room service, free internet access, and of course, connections.

It was also the hub of American extraction activity, but they kept that part quiet. You could check in as an ordinary traveler and get some good customer service, or you could check in and ask for the "overnight upgrade." Then, the person behind the desk would nod and get you a room, and nothing more would be said. At least, not for a while.

Regulars often noticed that there was almost always a business conference going on. For this reason, the hotel had two conference rooms, and you could only rent one of them online. The other was for certain guests only.

Because in the evening, certain guests in upgraded suites would get phone calls from the desk that the conference room was ready, with coffee and snacks and whatever they needed while they talked. Then, in the quiet hours, deals would be made, and agreements would be arranged, and people would leave the next day to get a crew together. It wasn't hard to find, if you knew who to ask. In and out. No more than 24 hours, and they'd have you on your way, no questions asked.

Luckily, Cobb still remembered.

The conference room was quiet that night, with only a few people hovering by the coffee and talking in the chairs, and that made him uneasy. He'd never seen so few patrons at the hotel. It was so empty, it was suspicious, and judging by the looks on peoples' faces, they knew it too.

The tall, dark woman by the coffee maker remembered him. Faulkner, he recalled. She worked solo, but they'd spoken before. He had no desire to work with her anyway. Faulkner was notably susceptible to selling people out for the right price, even friends, but she had her finger on the pulse of the underground. She knew everyone, and she would know where Arthur was.

She raised her eyebrows as he approached the machine, not quite smiling, but acknowledging.

"You've been gone," she said plainly. "A little bit unexpected after the stunt you pulled."

"Let's just say I thought it would be best to disappear for a while," he retorted, watching her pour two entire sugar packets into her drink. She raised it in a mock toast.

"Let's just say you missed some crucial opportunities to make bank."

He nodded. He'd feared this.

"Everyone was looking for you for a while," she added. "They were flashing some serious cash too. I would have told them where to find you, but I didn't know."

"I don't do that anymore," said Cobb.

"And yet here you are."

"I'm looking for a man," he said.

"A particular man, or just in general?"

He flattened his mouth in an impatient grimace. "I'm looking for Arthur."

Her mouth opened, like she might have started to speak, but she closed it just as quickly. She turned, gazing out over the small ocean of suits and ties, and held the coffee to her lips, exhaling softly and thoughtfully.

"I thought you might say that," she said.

"And I'm in a hurry," he added. "I just need to know where he was working last. If you don't know, at least direct me to someone who might."

"I understand you two used to be close, and now you've misplaced him completely?" She laughed into the cup. "Take it easy."

"I haven't exactly been keeping up with current events. Has he been working?"

"Sit with me."

She waved him to a pair of wide chairs across the room, and he had no choice but to follow. He hated being out of it. He hated this reliance on people like Faulkner. He hated how much he needed, and how little he could get on his own.

Cobb sat across from her and repeated the question. "Has he been working?"

Faulkner frowned. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? How can you not know? We were at the top of our game five years ago, and I know you keep tabs on everybody in the system."

She leaned back in the chair and shrugged in a nonchalant way that made him sick.

"I don't know, and I'm being honest with you. I don't know where he is, exactly."

"I don't need coordinates. I just need a hint. He'll want to see me, and I'll find him."

Faulkner laughed again. "You're sure?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're awfully confident that he'll want to see you. I'm just making sure you've thought about it. I mean, I believe you..."

She trailed off, glancing over at the other occupants of the room. Cobb knew some of them. None of the investors, of course, but the extractors. They were only a handful of the regulars he remembered, and some new. All young. Eerily young.

"Something's wrong," he said. "What aren't you telling me?"

Faulkner locked on his eyes and her expression grew cold. "What?"

"You know as well as I do that something's not right here. Where is everyone? Where's Eckert? How about Jacques? They were always here, and there's no way they all got jobs at once."

For a moment, the worst-case scenario crossed his mind. No, they were too clever to get caught. It just didn't happen.

"I don't know the details," said Faulkner, "but business," she sipped her coffee, "is bad."

"It's never been bad before."

Then, another thought. Possibly worse. He felt his breath quicken in his chest and an unpleasant warmth wrapped itself around his throat, and he fumbled in his pocket for the totem he carried. _Business has never been bad. Where is everyone? Something's wrong. How did I get here?_

Metal hit the glass of the table between them, and the top spun. He watched it intently, holding his breath with every passing second. Faulkner remained silent as the revolutions slowed to a wobbling tumble, and the totem fell the the table, immobile.

"Satisfied?" she asked smugly. "Welcome to reality. Surprise! It sucks."

"Business has _never_ been bad," Cobb hissed. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I'm only telling you what I know, and that's this: After your little fiasco with Fischer, things were fine, and then people started to go missing. Haven't you been following the news?"

He had to admit he hadn't stuck around to witness the aftermath. "What happened?"

"Well, for a while there was this global energy monopoly scare, and then it just... stopped, I guess. Your guy Fischer took his business in a completely different direction, so we were all watching to see what your other guy would do."

"Saito."

"Saito, yes. I remember now." Faulkner leaned back and let the heel of her shoe hang loose over a crossed leg. "Everyone was watching to see the money he'd make, and then he handed it over to some relative or something, and now they're working on some weird-ass global solar initiative while he lives comfortably in retirement."

Cobb almost choked on the coffee. "Retirement? You mean he paid us so he could just retire? He wasn't that old." He couldn't help feeling a little betrayed, even though it wasn't his business.

"That's the weird part. He's completely vanished from the news, and refuses any involvement with his business. He could be dead and nobody would know. I heard from someone that they think he joined a cult."

"That doesn't sound right."

"I'm not here to tell you what sounds right, I'm here to tell you what I heard." She clicked her tongue in irritation. "Anyway, that's the end of my story. What's new with you?"

"What about the extractors? You said people were disappearing."

"Right. Here's where it gets weirder. Not three months after your guy Saito disappears, we start losing extractors. No notes, no letters. They just leave one day and never come back. No one wants to acknowledge it because we don't want to draw attention to our operations, but everyone knows something's up."

Cobb felt a chill creep up his spine. "And you haven't thought to look into it?"

"Like I said, we can't. If it got to the news, theorists would start trying to figure out what the vanished had in common, and they'd blow our cover. I'm just trying to preserve what's left of the center here. I'm not about to risk that much trouble to look into other people's business." She shrugged. "It's not like we've got a union or anything."

"People don't just disappear, Faulkner."

"People don't," she replied, raising her glass. "But whatever they're doing, I wish they'd stop. We're running on fumes, here, and people aren't coming to offer jobs where there aren't extractors."

"And is Arthur also a mysterious disappearance?" Cobb shuddered to consider the possibility.

"He wasn't for the longest time, and I was surprised," said Faulkner. "Unlike you, I kept tabs on your entire crew when they got back, and Arthur was actually with us for quite a while. There were other problems, though."

"Problems?"

"Like that architect you picked up out of nowhere. Ariadne? She finished her degree and we all expected her back. It's addictive, this work. She was back, actually, and she did one job, and then she vanished and I never saw her here again."

"That's normal. It's not for everyone," said Cobb. "She was brilliant, but she never struck me as the type."

"Fine," said Faulkner. "How about your friend Eames? Did he strike you as 'the type'? Because he's gone now too."

Cobb averted his gaze to hide his shock. "He might be working with another group."

"I would know. He would have told us."

"They might be doing something highly confidential."

"All of them? At once?" Faulkner kept listing, undaunted. "Yusuf, your chemist. We relied on his office heavily, and now it's closed and he's gone. I even asked around, and a friend said he had a different offer. And then Arthur. Not two years ago, he told me he was going to take some time out of the service for personal reasons, and I never saw him again. I can't ask questions. We survive because we don't ask questions, but don't you think it's weird that your entire team vanished within three years of your job? And the only one skewing that statistic is Arthur. If you don't take him into account that's three connected disappearances within four months of the job, and Saito on top of that."

"Do you suspect foul play?"

"I wouldn't even begin to know where to point my fingers. It's not just your people either. You remember Eckert, right? From Germany? He left two years ago."

"And Jacques?"

"Jacques is still with us. He's collecting intel in Johannesburg."

Cobb bit his lip. "That makes no sense. After we proved inception as an option, the market should have exploded. This room should be full of extractors."

"And yet here we are."

Faulkner's eyes followed a man in a suit as he rose from a chair and left the room. One of the younger extractors who'd been in the conversation sighed and meshed his slender fingers together thoughtfully, clearly disappointed.

"New guy?" whispered Cobb.

Faulkner nodded. "They're young, with no jobs under their belts, and our customers have such high expectations now. It's getting harder to secure deals." She glanced over at her table-mate. "You're here for work, aren't you? I can get you something if you want it. That man who just left, if you told him who you are..."

"My first priority is finding Arthur."

"I see." She sighed, rising from the chair. "In that case, I can't help you, but I wish you all the best."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone left Cobb a message to decipher, but that was a long time ago.

"I trust you had a pleasant stay, Mr. Charles."

Cobb smiled at the attendant behind the desk as she slid him a paper to sign. He knew better than to use his real name on this kind of a trip, even if it was at a "safe-house."

"It was lovely, thank you."

The girl paused as she took the paper back, as if she was trying to remember something. He picked up on this slight display of emotion and wondered. They'd never met, and she hadn't been working here the last time he'd stayed.

"Is everything in order?" he asked.

"One moment." She held up a finger, as if to pause him, and pulled a small leather notebook out of the front desk cabinet. "Your name, I thought I remembered... yes, it's been a while, but there's mail in your box."

 _Mail?_ He hadn't even thought to check for mail. No one knew he was here, and he hadn't come to the hotel since long before...

"That's not possible," he started to object, but she disappeared and returned with a small key.

"It was a long time ago," she explained. "Years. But the visitor insisted that we keep your box open in case you returned, Mr. Charles."

He took the key and tossed it in his palm once, contemplating it. The only people who knew he was a regular were the other regulars, and he'd never stayed with someone long enough to make a lasting impression. No one but-

"Did you get the name of the person who left it?" Cobb asked, turning back to the desk.

The attendant shook her head. "Like I said, this was years ago. Long before I worked here, but it's on the records."

Surely any mail he'd received years ago was moot by now. He'd made it clear to everyone he knew that after the Fischer job, he wasn't going to return to the hotel. No one expected him to, and if it was a job offer, the benefactor would have approached him directly. The idea of old mail intrigued and terrified him, and he clasped the key tightly as he entered the hotel's small room of mailboxes. Whoever left the note must have paid in advance to keep his box open. He supposed that he should have thought it was odd when he never got a call asking if he really wanted to close it, but he'd been very busy for five years. Five years was a long time.

Sure enough, there in the usual spot, was his box, unchanged.

He turned the key and the metal screeched as the small door was disturbed for the first time in half a decade. He reached blindly into the dark box, and his fingers found the paper texture of something hard and oblong. Not a note. A package.

Thinking quickly, he tucked the package into his coat and left the room. With one last polite goodbye to the staff, he stepped out into the early-morning chill of the parking lot and hailed a taxi.

"Where to, sir?"

"The airport," he replied.

As the engine hummed and the taxi pulled onto the highway, he pulled the package from its hiding place and felt along the paper edge. There were no markings on the envelope except his name. No identification of the sender. He felt for a weakness in the seal and tore gently, expectant.

The contents of the package were this:

A note-card with writing, small and faint.

A cell phone, an older model that had long since been replaced. It looked practically new.

A red die.

He exhaled softly, removing the card first. Arthur. The die had to be Arthur. Holding the card up to the light, he examined the writing. Inscribed was a message, and it was not addressed to a Mr. Charles.

_Cobb,_

_You've made something of yourself, or so you tell me. You might never see this, and if you don't, more power to you. I'm happy for you._

_If you do see this, and for some reason you've come looking for us, don't worry. We're safe. If you need to talk to me, I've given you the means, for emergencies only. You won't see me at the hotel again._

It wasn't signed, but it didn't have to be. The sender was as clear as the card's blunt message, but Cobb couldn't make heads or tails of it. You won't see me at the hotel again. For emergencies only.

And then there was the pointed use of "we." _You've come looking for **us**. **We're** safe._ Who was "we"? Cobb could only assume that his old friend spoke for multiple extractors, and his first assumption was the Fischer team, but why would Arthur keep in contact with that specific group? Save Cobb, Arthur had been a solo act for most of his lengthy career. Now, he was sending cryptic messages, talking like he was part of some conspiracy, and Cobb was nervous.

Then, he flipped the card. It was monogrammed, but not by Arthur.

The stationary belonged to Saito.

It was the logo of his old corporation, the one Cobb had seen in his lengthy research for the job that started it all; the job that turned out to be an audition. That logo was defunct now, redesigned and re-branded by other members of Saito's extended business family. The message must have been written before Saito retired, which, according to Faulkner, was only a few months after the job.

If it was written so long ago, had the truthfulness of the message been altered? Was Arthur still safe?

And what did Saito have to do with all this?

He paid the taxi and stood outside the airport, watching planes come and go as the sun rose over the parking lot, and opened the phone. It was a burner, too old to be traceable, with one number registered. Cobb took a deep breath, prayed there was still someone on the other end, and pressed the button to dial.

He waited, but no one picked up.

He dialed again and waited, hands shaking as they gripped the small phone. Faulkner had suspected foul play, but why? Something wasn't right. Arthur was the last person he ever suspected to give it all up. He wouldn't have.

Cobb chewed his lip in agitation and dialed a third time. Pick up. Pick up.

_"Hello?"_

He knew that voice, and loosened his tense grip on the phone. Arthur was alive.

"Arthur."

_"Cobb."_

There was a pause.

 _"So you went back,"_ said Arthur.

"That's right. I went back, and I expected to find you there, but you weren't." Cobb forced himself to take a breath and control the frustration in his tone. "She, uh... she said you left a while ago, actually."

_"That's right."_

"Well, I think I deserve a little explanation, don't you think?" Cobb laughed. "You can't just vanish on me like that. Where are-"

_"Not now."_

"What?"

_"Not over the phone. I can't give information over the phone."_

Cobb lowered his voice, catching himself looking over his shoulder out of habit. "Is everything alright?"

_"It's fine, but I just can't talk over the phone if you want my location. You'll have to meet me."_

"I don't understand."

_"I don't need you to. Just trust me. Are you by the airport?"_

"I am," said Cobb, not asking how he knew. "You need me to fly?"

_"I need you to fly to the same place we flew five years ago. Do you understand? There'll be someone there to meet you. Don't worry. I'll pay."_

Cobb started to confirm the location, but caught himself. Arthur was omitting the name for a reason. Were they being monitored? Did he think someone was listening in? Who would be after them, after all this time?

"I understand," Cobb uttered.

_"You should be there before five. Call five the meeting time."_

"How will I find your man?"

_"We'll find you."_

We.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's been hiding out in California, in a city in the middle of nowhere, but he's not the only one.

It was haunting how he could remember so little and yet so much.

Every turn in that familiar airport set Cobb on edge as he exited the hallway from the plane. He'd been so careful to avoid LAX, and any of the unpleasant memories tied to it, and yet here he was at the end and the beginning of it all.

It wasn't pain, and that was what he hated. The glimpses of his past life as he entered the terminal didn't sting him, but they evoked memories that stirred up something inside him he thought he'd buried. He'd killed this part of himself, the Dominick that lived for the thrill of the steal and fought with every breath. Killed it and forgotten it. Now, seeing what he saw, it was like he'd just woken up from a five-year sleep. He wanted to hate every moment in the airport.

So why did he feel like he was home?

Again, that feeling was pulling at the depths of his mind, inciting desires he'd forgotten since coming back for good. It was an aching, a burning, like this was where he belonged and he was only now feeling the pangs of missing it. Everything came back in overpowering waves that almost made him wonder why he'd left. He had to focus. He had to remember his family and his promise. One week. One job. That would be enough. That would be enough.

What if it wasn't?

That was the idea that burned at him as he crossed the linoleum floor, dodging a tourist family and always keeping an eye out. What if one more job wasn't enough? What if it didn't satisfy him the way he expected it to? Yes, he could control himself now, but the _energy_ , the _adrenaline_ pulsing through him at the idea of _dreaming again_... it was strong.

He remembered an image that would be stamped on his memory forever. Yusuf's laboratory, and the ones who came to dream. Vegetables, slaves to the serum. The thought of it almost made him sick, and he had to stop and force himself to breathe. They'd hit the point of no return, but had they felt it coming? Were they aware of their hopeless addiction, or was it already too late when they realized what was happening. He tried to block the images from his mind, but forced himself to see them. He pictured it. Himself, lying in a bed, hooked to a machine and dreaming of a better life. His children, grown, standing beside him, begging him to wake up. He wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't. One last job. One last dream.

What if one more was all it took? What if after this, there was no going back, and he'd be too buried in a false reality to care?

He gripped his bag tightly as he entered the heart of the airport, consoling himself with the promise he'd made. One more. One more. It wasn't just for him. The money might get both James and Phillipa through college, and secure a comfortable future for all of them. This too, he reminded himself, but always with this bitter chiding force in his instinctual mind.

_Don't even pretend this is anything but greed. Don't pretend you're doing this for anyone but yourself._

He'd lied so many times, he wasn't sure if he even believed himself anymore.

Arthur had always seen right through it. When they'd fought their way through Fischer's mind, Arthur was the one who called out his instability. Now, Cobb wondered, would Arthur believe him when he presented himself as a healed man? He didn't feel healed. All the old fears were still there, and what was stopping them from showing themselves when he entered the shared dream again? He was a liability to any team he joined, and Arthur would see that, assuming Arthur hadn't changed either. Cobb found himself questioning why he'd come at all. It was a terrible idea, and it was doomed to fail.

On an instinct, he found himself walking to the doors, wanting to get out of there and go home where everything would be the way it had been for five years, when a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Cobb."

He spun on his heel, confronted with a ghost from the past. "Ariadne."

She was there, remarkably unchanged. Small, dark, and bright-eyed as ever. She looked up at him with what could only be relief, and he was shocked. She was laughing like she'd missed him, or maybe it was the absurdity of it all. After all this time, they were back here of all places.

"You're here," he gasped, and she nodded.

"Arthur told me you needed a ride."

There was an uncomfortable pause, as Cobb tried to figure out what to say next. She looked so happy, but he had so many unhappy questions. He didn't want to ruin anything, but it was inevitable.

"I-" He started, but paused to re-evaluate his response. "You're staying with Arthur?"

"If by staying, you mean living in the same city, then yes, I'm _staying with Arthur_." She ended with a humorous imitation of his surprised tone, and in spite of himself, he laughed.

"I didn't know you guys were still in touch."

"He said you wouldn't want to see any of us anymore. He said you were going in a new direction, and it might be best if we left you alone." She looked him up and down. "You look like you did okay for yourself."

"Appearances can be deceiving," he replied, smiling.

"Follow me. My car's outside."

As Ariadne started the engine on the black SUV, adjusting her mirror, Cobb looked around at the vehicle. It was a nice car, so she had to be working, but she wasn't extracting. Architecture? But what were the odds of her finding an architecture job in the exact same city in California that Arthur was hiding out in? Cobb was tired of wondering, and decided to simply ask.

"Are we going to L.A.? Is that where you two have been camping out all these years?"

Ariadne flattened her mouth into a straight line. "We're just passing through Los Angeles. We're going to Sonomi."

"Sno...what?"

"Sonomi, California. It's just north of Pasadena about an hour or so."

"Never heard of it."

"Good. We intend to make sure as few people hear about it as possible."

Cobb couldn't stand it any longer. "Alright, who's we? Arthur left a note, and he wouldn't shut up about _we_ and _us_. Who is out here with you?"

Ariadne sighed and gripped the wheel a little bit more tightly. "You should wait to ask Arthur. I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to say."

"You accepted another deal from Saito, didn't you?"

"What?" she scoffed.

"It has to be that. He's asked something of all of you, and it's even worse than the last job. He's got you all locked up and you can't say a word, huh? Don't think I haven't been paying attention. He's holding auditions."

"Cobb, I-"

"Faulkner says extractors have been going missing, and all after Saito mysteriously retires. You're all staying off the grid in Sonomi until it's over, aren't you? Alright, spill it. Is it inception again? What does he want now, and how much is he paying you for it?"

"It's nothing like that," said Ariadne, suppressing the irritation in her tone. "And even if it was, it's none of your business. I seem to recall someone telling us never to contact him again."

"How much, Ariadne?"

"It's _not_ a _job_ ," she snapped, briefly taking her eyes off the road to glare into his. He remembered that fire. "It's not work, but I can't talk about it. There are a lot of people who would be in danger if we talked too much. Arthur can explain it better than I can. I haven't been here for very long."

"Is Eames in Sonomi too?"

She didn't answer.

"Ariadne-"

"It doesn't matter," she said firmly.

"So he is."

"It _doesn't matter_. We're not here for the reason you think we're here."

"He must be paying you well. You know, I've seen jobs like this play out before. Ariadne, I can help you, but just listen to me. I don't trust corporate people like Saito. He's not going to be satisfied. He's going to use you until that one job that's just too much, and when you say you won't do it, he gets rid of you. I've... I've lost friends to jobs like this. When people have money and power, you can't stop them. You have to get out while you still can."

"I don't do that anymore," said Ariadne, "and neither do you, so you can just _shut up_."

Another pause, and Cobb chose his next words very carefully. But before he could say them, she was already speaking.

"I graduated, Cobb. I'm an architect. I design and create real buildings and cities, and I help people. I get more fulfillment out of that than any dream, or any cut of any job. Don't think you know me. Don't assume you know anyone. People can... surprise you."

"I'm sorry, then. I didn't mean-"

"It's okay."

Cobb sighed. "Did I surprise you? You probably didn't expect to see me here."

"No, we expected you. We just thought it would be sooner."

"Stop saying that."

"Saying what?" she asked.

" _We_. I don't like that. Be specific, or I'll start believing that you ran off and joined a cult or something." Cobb laughed, but it was an uncomfortable laugh to fill the silence. "Ariadne, is the whole Fischer team out here?"

Ariadne didn't answer directly. "It's complicated."

"My question wasn't. I just want to know what you're doing out here with all these extractors. If all the disappeared are the _we_ you keep mentioning, and you really aren't doing another job, then why bring them out here?"

"We didn't bring them out here," said Ariadne softly. "They came."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sonomi, California is harboring a secret. Cobb just isn't sure what it might be. Something about the city makes him uneasy.

Sonomi, California was something like falling asleep. You didn't quite realize you were there until you'd been there for quite a while. It was all nondescript once they were out of L.A., with palm trees and the hazy glow of the evening highway, and then suddenly there was a lake, and the freeway veered right into a dazzling metropolis.

It all looked brand new. Under the shadow of the treeline, there were train stations and towers and buses all painted a uniform summer green. Far across the lake, there was a factory, all concrete and lights as it pulsed with whatever energy the place ran on. The buildings were shiny as they caught the setting sun, with swooping curves of glass that looked like something from a geometry textbook.

Cobb couldn't shake how new it looked. Like it had been built yesterday.

"It's incredible," he said softly, looking out the passenger window at the modern skyline, vaguely reminiscent of San Francisco or even Tokyo. And here it was, unknown, unimportant, the lights of the downtown area casting fireworks on the lake surface.

"Isn't it?" Ariadne remarked. "Most of this is new construction. At least, within the last five or six years. The transit system is unrivaled."

Five years. Five years since the job.

"And this is where you've been?"

She nodded, turning off the freeway and pointing the car into the city. "Mostly. I've done some traveling for research purposes, but I always come back."

"It's an energy town." Cobb nodded to the factory. "Right? Is that the industry here?"

"Energy. Technology. The standard for this region. We aren't far from Silicon Valley."

"But you have your own plant."

"We do."

She talked, again, like she was a part of this. She was the city as much as anyone, and Cobb was nervous. _We. We do._ You'd think she was the mayor.

"That's the bus terminal over there," she continued her tour. "You can get anywhere in the tri-state area for free if you need it. That building over there is the new hotel, and that's my apartment next to it. Up there is the hill country, where most of the big houses are. Ah, here we are."

As the city rose up around them in bright lights and color, she turned off the road and into a park area, quiet in the oncoming night. Shadows cast a blue glow on the grass, the only lights the bright spears of illuminated trees rising up from the lawn like islands.

"Where are we?" Cobb asked.

"Come on," she urged him, parking the car under the shadow of a tree. There were very few old trees on the park. It was all new.

Shoes hit the pavement, and Cobb stared up at the city all around them, 360 degrees around the small park. There were shops and people out for evening walks, and people coming home from work, and children playing by a large fountain a ways away. Cobb strolled idly under the foliage, towards that fountain that glowed with liquid light as the spotlights came on in the fading evening sun. There was a couple there, watching their two young children run circles around the fountain, a boy and a girl. Their laughter was haunting, because he'd heard it before, and in spite of himself, he got carried away by the memories. Children laughing. The sound of water.

He reached into his pocket, and his fingers found the cold metal of his totem. For a moment he considered it. It was stupid, he told himself. He knew this wasn't a dream, but there was that feeling again, like it didn't hurt to check. One check wouldn't hurt, and then he'd be fine. Just one more. One was all he needed.

But he stopped as he came to the fountain and stared into the seemingly random pulses of water. There were patterns, but in no particular order. The water rose. The water fell. The water spiraled upwards. The water fell. The water spiraled upwards. It was strange, but he found a slight comfort in it. It was wrong in his mind, that therefore it _couldn't_ be his mind, because if he imagined a fountain, he imagined a steady, predictable flow.

On the edge of the fountain, carved river stone, were metal letters, embedded and immovable. A dedication, he thought, or a motto in traditional park fashion. But as he looked closer in the unsteady light of the fountain, he saw that it was neither.

_Look around. Remember how you got here. Center yourself._

He felt his pulse quicken. That was a message he'd heard--he'd said--before. It was the mantra of an extractor in training, when the constant checking of one's surroundings wasn't quite habitual yet. And now here it was, carved into a fountain at a park in a city too good to be true. Not even thinking, he took out his totem in a shaking hand and carefully spun it on the smooth stone edge, just above the R in _Remember._

_How did I get here? I was in the car. I came from the airport. I was on a plane..._

He kept his eyes glued on the totem until it fell, and he was awake, but he didn't feel awake. The message was there, and it had to be for him, but why, and how?

"Sir?" said a voice. "Are you okay?"

He looked up to see the mother of the children staring at him with concern. Her gaze dropped to the still totem on the fountain's edge.

"Fine," he said. "I'm fine."

"Do you need me to call someone?"

She nodded towards a silver box on the other side of the fountain, not too unlike a police alert system, except the light was more of a cyan than deep blue. He'd never seen an emergency box like that.

"I'm fine," he repeated. "Sorry, I just zoned out for a minute. You don't need to call the police."

"Not the police," said the woman. "It's for-"

"Cobb," a voice interrupted, and he turned to see Ariadne standing there. Next to her, a hand on her shoulder, was Arthur.

Cobb quickly put the totem back in his coat, determined not to be caught slipping after all this time, and forced a polite smile. "Arthur."

Where Ariadne had remained unchanged, he could see in the dim light that Arthur was very different. There were lines on his face where there hadn't been before, and the way he held himself was inexplicably new. It wasn't any one thing that Cobb could place, but a lot of things that were so subtle, an acquaintance never would have noticed.

For a while, they didn't say anything. There wasn't that casual familiarity that Cobb shared with Ariadne. This ran deeper, and silence was okay. He felt like he heard more in the silence than any words he could have chosen. Five years. Five years was a long time, and every year stretched the silence a little farther.

Arthur broke it with a laugh, and crossed the space between them in a few quick strides to grab his friend's hand and grip his shoulder amiably. Cobb wished he hadn't. The light was faint, but he knew that whatever had cued Arthur into his instability years ago was still evident on his face. The distance between them could hide it, but Arthur had make quick work of that.

"I'm sorry about all the precautions," said Arthur. "It's safer this way. I promise I'll explain everything. You know I don't like to keep anyone in the dark."

He loosened his grip on Cobb's hand, and for a moment Cobb caught a flash of an expression. Not concern, he thought, but he'd seen it before, and he realized he'd been right to worry about being seen. There was that nagging feeling that nothing was better. Nothing had changed, and Arthur could see that he hadn't let go the way he swore he had. On the outside, Cobb was different. Older, perhaps, but not wiser. His eyes were still the eyes of the man who couldn't control the dream without running into nightmares he'd repressed.

"We're going to go get dinner," Ariadne said, "and you must be tired. I can get you a hotel room for the night if you'd rather be alone."

"I don't want sleep," Cobb laughed, "I want answers. What have you all been up to out here? It's been so long, and I just feel like... well, I don't feel like I understand anything anymore. I came looking for you, but you were the ones who found me. What's going on?"

Ariadne and Arthur exchanged a look he didn't like, and Arthur sighed.

"A lot has happened since the inception, Cobb. To our line of work, I mean. This place isn't really a city, as much as... well, it's complicated. You must be hungry."

Maybe Cobb had been hungry, but he didn't feel like eating anymore. Not until things started to make sense.

"Eames is here," said Cobb. "He is, isn't he? Yusuf too. Why is everyone here, of all places, if there's no job happening? You have to be running something."

Arthur shook his head, glancing at the fountain. "We aren't. Cobb, this is going to be a little hard for you to believe, but I'm retired, same as you."

Cobb glanced at Ariadne, and she nodded to confirm his suspicion. She was done too. If they were gone, he wondered, who else...

"You're all done?" Cobb almost laughed at the absurdity of the idea. "One job, and you're all done? Was it really all that bad?"

"It wasn't about the job," said Arthur. "It was you."

The statement hit Cobb like a blow to the chest. A punch, high-velocity. A train.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Then let me explain," said Arthur bluntly. "But let me do it over dinner, because I'm starving."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cobb discovers the truth about the city, and learns a thing or two about the whereabouts of the other team members.

There was a shopping center under the highway overpass, bright like a glass jewel against the night sky. Inside, it was alive with people, and there were more fountains. Art installations everywhere. Domed ceilings dotted with a celestial canopy of lights. An Italian restaurant connected to the lobby, where they waited to be seated.

One of the walls of the center's immense lobby was a mirror, or rather, a shattered splash of mirror fragments organized like a fresco on the wall. Cobb stood in front of the mirror for a moment, considering himself, and it was there that he saw another sign. It was small, as unassuming as a plaque on a museum painting.

_Take thirty seconds to notice your features. Remember how you look._

Another command, like the fountain. Cobb exhaled and found himself idly reaching out to touch an identical hand. It was strange, the sign. It was like someone was leaving messages. Too strange to be real. Too real to be a dream. This city was a perfect balance. And who would leave that vague message on a fountain, and now the mirror...

He saw a reflection come up behind his, and Ariadne was there, meeting his eyes in the glass.

"You should follow the signs," she said. "It helps."

"Who left them?"

She smiled. "I did. This one is mine."

Cobb raised his eyebrows. "The mirror art?"

She raised her arms in a girlish display of pride, smiling up at the ceiling and letting her hair fall back over her shoulders. "All of this. This building. I designed it."

Cobb looked, dumbfounded, and sure enough, he could see touches of the architect here and there. The way the glass folded like an ocean wave over their heads to make way for the dome of stars. The geometrical pattern of the escalators as they wove upwards like an Escher painting. It was unmistakably hers, but with a touch more expression than he'd seen five years ago. She'd grown comfortable in her craft.

"It's beautiful," he remarked. "Were you commissioned?"

She nodded. "Vantage Industries, the company you saw across the lake. They're responsible for all the new development. He... they wanted me."

"That's a big honor."

"It was a lot of work, but worth every moment. Some of the others downtown are mine too, but this has always been my favorite."

He turned his attention back to the sign. "So what is this? There was something... by the fountain."

Ariadne nodded. "They're all over the city. It's part of Vantage's program, you see. We-"

Before she could finish, Arthur called them. Their table was ready.

_Remember how you look._

Cobb knew about mirrors. Another instability of the dream, and a go-to for when the totem just isn't enough. In a dream, something's always off when you look in the mirror. You normally don't question it, but if there was something to prompt you to question your surroundings. A sign, for example.

Twice in one night he'd been prompted to question the reality around him, and not by his instincts. By infrastructure. These reminders were built into the world for anyone to see. To a non-extractor, they'd be nothing but an odd poem etched into a wall, but there was a deeper meaning. Ariadne had mentioned a program from that company...

At the fountain, he could remember how he got there. He could retrace his steps for a few days at least. At the mirror, there was nothing wrong with his reflection. It was him, plain and simple. It all meant something, but what?

The waiter showed them to a table looking out over that man-made lake, where the lights danced, and Cobb could see across the city skyline at the tallest buildings. A few businesses. One of them was Vantage, marked by a geometrical logo. Then, in the center of the city, where it could be seen from just about any point. Anyone could see the time if they needed to. Suddenly, something clicked, and he understood.

"This city," he breathed, gaping at Arthur. "It's a totem."

Arthur smiled.

"The random patterns at the fountain. The mirrors. You have a clock tower, but it's almost impossible to read a clock in a dream. Everyone knows that." Cobb hit the palm of his hand against the table. "Every single thing around here is designed to remind a person that they aren't in a dream. How... how many extractors live here?"

Ariadne lowered her voice, clearly hinting at him to lower his. "The population is sitting at roughly thirty-percent extractors, or people who've been exposed to the serum and the tech before."

"Then that's why everyone's disappeared." Cobb laughed, ashamed he hadn't seen it sooner. "You've designed an extractor's paradise. There wouldn't be a better place to run a job when every part of your city exists to remind you it's real. No confusion whatsoever. That's what Vantage is? They're organizing this?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "I'm not sure you quite understand, Dom. We aren't doing any extraction from Sonomi. No one is. Vantage... that's not what they do."

"But why quit when you've literally made yourself the perfect location? And why bring all the people for the job?"

"Dom, Vantage Industries isn't an agency for extractors. Everyone here is retired. There isn't a single active extractor in Sonomi." Arthur sighed. "Vantage Industries designs software and technology for people with disabilities. Physical and mental."

"The extractors chose to come to us and start new lives," said Ariadne. "Vantage purchased land here years ago and designed the city's facilities to be as accessible as possible for people with schizophrenia."

Cobb was silent.

"Now you see why it's extremely important that we stay quiet about all this," Arthur added. "There are a few thousand people living here who have engaged in illegal behavior. If word got out that that was what Sonomi was for, a lot of people would get hurt. But this way, everyone gets a new start, and they can live normal lives and have families, all while managing their symptoms."

"And by symptoms," said Cobb, "you mean inability to tell a dream from reality."

Arthur nodded. "Your wife wasn't the first. I had never considered it before, but there are others who've lost people to dreams, or who've been victims themselves with no support network. We are that support network now. We're making sure these kinds of losses don't happen. Extractors are people, Cobb. When Vantage started looking into the effects of the serum on mental health, I couldn't just stand by to see another victim like Mal, or like-"

"Me," Cobb interrupted. "You said you expected me. You think this has gotten to me. You think I've lost my grip on reality."

"I didn't say that."

"We respect you wanting to be alone," said Ariadne, "but you have to understand that if you're coming back, trying to recruit us for another job, it's not going to happen. I can't risk that."

"One job isn't going to _kill you_ ," hissed Cobb, quickly regaining his composure when the waiter returned with food. As he left, Cobb sunk back into his frustration. "I don't know what you've gotten yourselves mixed up in here, but we can't just have no extractors. You and your Vantage Industries can't just shut down an entire line of work because of some new science."

"Cobb, I-"

"Maybe I'd like to dream. Is that so hard to believe? Maybe that's all I have left. You can't take that from people. I need another job, but I don't have to take you. Just let me be."

"That's the problem," said Arthur, adopting a harsher tone. "Do you hear yourself? I didn't think there was anything wrong. I thought you were just connecting again after all this time, but look at you! You've fallen apart without dreamsharing, and it's only going to get worse."

"You don't know that."

" _I do know that, damn it!_ " Arthur snapped. "You think you're the only one? The only difference between you and everyone else in this city is that you're too proud to admit that you need help, and you haven't gotten any. What about your family, huh? What about your kids?"

"Why do you think I'm looking for work again?"

"So you mean to tell me, after all this time, being an extractor is all you've got?"

"It's what I'm good at, and people need me."

"Don't." Arthur cut him off. "Don't talk like that. Don't talk like we were performing some service to society with all those years of work. Don't pretend like it was anything but stealing from rich people to make other rich people richer. We tore our brains to pieces for money, and there are people out there who did the same. People died for that work. Don't pretend that's okay."

"You never had a problem with it when you were getting paid," said Cobb coldly.

Arthur considered speaking, retorting, but held back. He took a breath and leaned back against the chair, looking around the restaurant.

"You're here," said Ariadne, "and we're here, and we're not leaving with you. the least you can do is let us help, or let us try. At the fountain... you still carry a totem with you, don't you?"

"There's nothing wrong with that," said Cobb.

"But after _five years_? Don't you think that's a long time to still be worrying about reality?"

"Ariadne, I was trapped in my own mind for an entire lifetime. If you could even begin to understand what that's like, you would understand why I can't help checking every now and then. I'll bet you can still dream after what, two jobs? when I close my eyes at night, I see nothing. Nothing. I have been in this business almost as long as you've been alive. You don't know what it's like to live an entire life and lose it to another, and then lose what made that life worth living at all. Don't act like you know what I'm going through. You're not an extractor, Ariadne. You don't know the meaning of the word."

Instead of taking offense, the way Cobb expected her to, she was quiet. But her eyes spoke volumes, and for a moment, he heard the evident pain behind his own words. He wondered if they'd believed any of it, or if he was fooling anyone.

"The choice," said Arthur, "is yours. I can't help you if you won't let me, but please consider it. If I can understand how destructive this is, so can you."

For a moment, Cobb even considered it. He imagined letting go of the barriers he'd built up and admitting everything. The anger. The fear. The pain. But there was that feeling. That itch. To deny himself the dream he'd promised would tear him apart. He needed it, and neither of them could possibly understand that. They hadn't lost what he'd lost. They didn't feel the way he felt.

"I... appreciate your concern." He forced the words out like they pained him. "But I've made up my mind. I just want to know where the others are. Surely you've seen Eames at some point."

"We have," said Arthur.

"I'd like to know where he is."

Eames, he knew, wasn't like them. He appreciated Ariadne's caution and Arthur's careful nature, but this seemed to be what had tangled them in this trap of fear that was Sonomi, and whatever propaganda Vantage was spreading about the serum. There had always been risks, and anyone knew this. It was the overcoming of that fear that made an extractor. The understanding that any moment could be your last waking one, and that reality wasn't quantifiable. Yes, there were risks, but there were benefits also, rewards he could only begin to imagine. The future was in the uncertainties, and the eternal terror of being lost in your own mind. He had more experience than anyone he knew, and it wouldn't be difficult at all to convince someone like Eames. Eames didn't ask questions, and didn't stop to think about the danger. If Arthur wasn't on his side anymore, Eames was, for the right price.

"Eames lives here," said Ariadne, "in the hill country."

That made Cobb pause. He found that hard to believe. "Is he with Vantage?"

"You could say that."

"And he owns a _house_?"

This, to Cobb, was eerily out of character for Eames. To affiliate himself for too long with any one company, or to settle in any way. It didn't sound right. Eames' skills weren't suited to stable work, to allegiance.

"I'd drive you," said Arthur, "but it's very late. Maybe it's better if you just let us get you a hotel..."

"No," interjected Cobb. "We'll go now, or I'll go and you can just give me an address. I'm not staying in this _place_ any longer than I have to."

Arthur might have taken offense years ago, but when Cobb looked in his eyes, there was none of that young fire. He'd cooled, and that irritated Cobb more than any sharp remark. He didn't see anger in those eyes. All that was left was disappointment.

_Disappointed._

Why did that word sound familiar? Why did he hear it at night, in the gray space between fully dreaming and waking? Not his voice, but someone else's, a long time ago.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cobb finds Eames, and Cobb finds something unexpected along the way.

There was a full crescent of hill country overlooking the valley, and that's where the the big houses were. Sprawling, California suburbs that were the only remnants of what Sonomi had been before the takeover of Vantage Industries. They were older, or as old as they could be in northern California, tucked away in the shade of the thick tree groves that lined the hill streets. The trees all but blocked out the moon, and the only glow was the occasional street sign illuminated by headlights, or a flash of gold through the trees as they passed a house where the residents were still awake.

"It really is late," insisted Arthur, glancing out the window warily, as if it was a crime to drive through a suburb at night. "We should come back tomorrow."

"I'm not coming back tomorrow. I'm getting what I need tonight," Cobb reminded him impatiently.

"If you're trying to convince him to come with you..." Arthur's voice betrayed doubt.

"If he's still the person I knew five years ago, there won't be any trouble." Cobb caught his friend's eye in the rear-view mirror as Ariadne slowed to read a street sign. "I don't remember you being on terribly good terms with our friend Eames. Why the sudden interest in how much sleep he gets?"

"Don't be dense, Dom." Arthur laughed, but it was tired. "People change, and not everything's black and white, and that's how it is."

A splatter of raindrops on the windshield turned into a steady pour, and then rose in a crescendo that drowned out all sound but the splashing of summer rain. The trees swayed steadily, just enough to appear alive, like phantoms in the darkness. Cobb had never liked rain. The sudden change in pressure left a dull ache in the jaw he always kept so tense.

Maybe they were right, after all. About him and about Eames. Arthur had always been so level-headed. Now, in the thumping pulse of the storm, Cobb felt doubt beginning to seep in. His friends had sown the seeds. He was trying to go back to the way things were, but what if they were never the same? Things were different now, and getting a team together would be different. He was almost certain he could count on Eames, Yusuf was a wild card, and he wouldn't want Saito again. No, Saito was gone anyway, and they would have nothing more to do with each other. All he wanted was one person, one person who hadn't moved on. Then, things could be the way they were. He'd hoped that one person would be Arthur, but Arthur was different now. He would have been okay with Ariadne, but Ariadne never gave herself over completely to the job like they had.

Eames, he told himself, would be enough. He had to be.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the low cloud cover, as Ariadne climbed the SUV higher and higher into the hills. Now there were no rows of houses. Only rows and rows of trees.

"You people sure can hide," muttered Cobb, leaning back and listening to the wind press the car.

"Eames knows how to disappear," said Arthur, chuckling to himself. "You of all people must know that."

And then, all of a sudden, there they were. Under a shelter of trees, the rain was less intense, and Cobb could make out the faint glow of a house. It was geometrical, all gray stone and wood, with large modern windows that exposed a downstairs living space liberally, safe in the knowledge that a wide radius of trees provided all the necessary privacy. Cobb saw bookshelves in the dim light of a few paper lamps, a fireplace facade with artificial flames, and art. Remarkably good taste, he thought, for Eames. Maybe he had been making the rounds as an extractor after all, and was financially comfortable.

"This is it?" he asked.

"All ashore," said Ariadne, bringing the car to a halt alongside another, silver and well-made. Her headlights illuminated a set of long, concrete steps leading through a small garden. A tree, heavy with petals, shaking in the wind. An assortment of neatly-trimmed tropical shrubs lining a smooth gravel path. Ariadne unlocked the doors, but didn't move.

"I think I should probably come with you," said Arthur as Cobb moved to open the door.

"I think you've helped me immensely, but you've done all you can." Cobb didn't even try to hide the edge in his voice. "Enjoy retirement. Both of you."

Arthur flattened his mouth in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Ariadne didn't remove her hands from the steering wheel.

Cobb's shoes crunched on the rain-soaked gravel as he approached the steps to the front door. He ignored the rain on his shirt and climbed, quickly running over possible scenarios in his mind. What would he say? In the hazy light, he found a doorbell and pressed it, listening to the ghostly echo in the house. Such a big house, he thought, for one person.

As he waited, his eye caught on something lying on the porch. Something brightly colored. He knelt down, reaching out, and his hand found something soft and rubber. When he raised it to the light, he saw that it was a frog. A toy, with cheap, faded paint and comically wide eyes. He regarded the frog for a moment in a mixture of amusement and confusion before setting it down.

At that moment, the door clicked, and the porch was bathed in light. Cobb blinked in the light and the rain, squinting as a figure stepped into the door frame. Only seconds after his eyes adjusted to the change in light, he heard a voice that didn't belong to Eames.

"Mr. Cobb?"

It was unmistakably Saito.

For a moment, they both stood there in silence, oblivious to the storm. Then, Cobb heard a shuffling of steps behind him, and Arthur was at his shoulder.

"We're sorry about waking you up, really," said Arthur quickly. "Dominick just got here from L.A., and he's insistent about seeing Eames for business reasons. I told him that you-"

"It's fine," said Saito, waving a dismissive hand. "No one's _really_ asleep yet. I won't make you stand out in the rain all night. Come in, come in. Just don't make too much noise."

Before Cobb knew what had happened, he was pulled into the warmth of a living room, and Saito was taking his rain-soaked coat and hanging it up. Ariadne followed, and they were all standing there, dripping over an expensive-looking rug.

It was a stunning house, Cobb thought, as houses went. Now that he saw Saito, it made sense. Saito's touch, his taste, was in everything from the stacked stone accent walls to the frosted glass sconces. Saito briefly hovered near a control panel on the wall and brightened the sconces with a wave of his hand. Then, Cobb felt a nudge, and turned to see Arthur nodding towards a plastic tray by the door, where he and Ariadne had already placed their wet shoes. Cobb unlaced his sheepishly and turned back to their host.

"Whatever it is," said Saito, "it must be very important. I have seen you in..."

"Five years." Cobb nodded in a polite acknowledgement.

"And you've been in good health?"

"More or less."

Saito laughed. "That's vague, Mr. Cobb."

Cobb couldn't help but study him as he moved around the room. Yes, it had been a while, but he was even more shocked to see him than he might have been if they'd been in, say, an office or somewhere Cobb associated with this person. But no, he was here, in a house in California, looking so ordinary that it made Cobb uneasy. Again, there was that pang of disbelief, and he almost compulsively fished in his pocket for the totem, but he restrained himself in the presence of others who might call him on the old habit.

"You're here," Cobb said, flooded with curiosity.

"That's right. Come in, please. I can make coffee or tea if you want it. Don't worry about the time. We keep unusual hours around here anyway."

"Coffee would be nice," said Ariadne, taking a seat at the granite countertop. "Thank you. It's been a long night."

Cobb sat too, and continued to watch Saito as he went around, rummaging in the cupboards, all the while keeping up cheerful, ordinary conversation. He talked about the weather and coffee prices like he'd lived here his entire life, and had never once commissioned corporate espionage. His hair was slightly longer than Cobb remembered, and his clothes so much more casual. It felt wrong, Cobb thought, seeing him so... domestic.

And why was Saito here of all places? Cobb hadn't come to see Saito. Cobb hadn't even expected to see Saito ever again, and yet here he was, in Eames' alleged house.

"I really am sorry about the intrusion," said Cobb, even though Saito seemed unbothered. "It's just kind of an urgent personal meeting. I've flown across the country and back trying to find you guys, and then I found this place."

Saito smiled. "Do you like it? It's all very new."

"I noticed. But, with all due respect, what brings you here?" Cobb took the cup of coffee offered to him. "You didn't strike me as the type to stay in California. I haven't seen or heard about you on the news in ages, and then you sold your company."

"I hope I don't seem ungrateful." Saito said. "After everything you did, I mean."

"Oh no, your reward was more than satisfactory. I just find it strange. You could have had the industry completely under your control, and you just let it go like that. I'm no businessman, but... to just quit like that."

Saito nodded. "It would seem strange, wouldn't it? But Mr. Cobb, I haven't quit anything. I've just moved in a new direction."

"And visiting California is that new direction?" Cobb laughed. "Is it technology? Call me crazy, but I suspect you're working with extractors. And I say more power to you, especially," he cast a glance at Arthur, "with whatever this Vantage Industries is doing to the market."

"Mr. Cobb," said Saito, "Vantage Industries belongs to me."

Cobb opened his mouth, struggling for words he couldn't quite summon, when there was noise on the stairs, and he turned to see Eames there. Unchanged. Casual. That same bemused expression as usual, and he didn't look the slightest bit surprised to see Cobb. He'd recently showered, and stood there in a button-down and athletic pants, a gray towel draped over his shoulder.

"I-" Cobb stammered. "Well, I didn't-"

"I was just beginning to tell Mr. Cobb about Vantage," said Saito, filling Eames in. "He flew in from Los Angeles this afternoon. He wants to know about the city."

Cobb had expected a warmer welcome than he got, but to his surprise, Eames' expression was the same as Arthur's. Silent. Stunned. Maybe the slightest bit uneasy about his presence here. Cobb had anticipated a certain degree of shock--it had been years since the job, with no communication--but this was a different sort of reaction. His presence here was something alien, and suddenly, Cobb realized that he was an outsider to something--maybe a lot of things--that had happened over the last five years.

"I'm not here for trouble," said Cobb, trying to be diplomatic. "I know it's been a while, and it seems a lot has changed, but I'll be direct. I'm looking for another job. I came here as an invitation." He turned to Eames. "Arthur and Ariadne seem to be down for the count, but I was hoping you would just consider."

"And by job," said Eames, "you mean you want to go back."

"I don't want to. I need to, and I could use a good forger."

It appeared to Cobb that the entire room exchanged a look, and not once did it pass to him. He turned to Saito impatiently. 

"You're behind Vantage? Any particular reason you decided to co-opt the entire team?"

Saito's expression turned sour for the first time since he'd arrived. "I'm not quite sure we understand each other."

"Everyone's out here, and they all seem to be working for your new tech company in your city, where you've conveniently pooled every extractor and convinced them to be scared of the dream. You're keeping them from something, I think. What's your competition? Why bring them all here?"

"Mr. Cobb, I brought no one here except the four individuals I invited. Everyone else came of their own accord, because I provided access to resources they needed."

"Like what?" scoffed Cobb. "Mirrors? Clocks? So yes, you made a totem city. That's very impressive. You've created a false sense of security for innocent people, convinced them that their line of work is highly dangerous, and now they're too scared to live anywhere but here. Don't think I don't see it." He dared to raise his voice just a little bit more. He could never do that to Arthur, but Saito was different. "So now you've convinced Arthur to bring me here. Why? What do you get from trapping everyone?"

A shrewd business move, he thought. Of course. Saito had seen firsthand how easily a powerful person could be tricked through inception. How easily someone could fall victim to a false idea. Now, he was employing the same concepts en masse to protect himself. 

He'd monopolized the extractors.

"Dominick," said Eames softly, politely. "Please. I think you need to consider-"

" _You see it!_ " snapped Cobb, pointing an accusatory finger. "You _have_ to see it. You're too smart to miss it. He's using you, Eames. Listen to me. Whatever is going on here isn't right. We have to go back."

" _We're_ not going anywhere," retorted Eames, incredulous. " _You_ are going to sit down, get it together, and listen to me. You can't just come here and expect us all to... Cobb, it's more complicated than you think. A lot of good people are safe now because of Saito. People are getting the help they need. Have you been paying attention?" He laughed. "Honestly. You have a lot of nerve showing up here and-"

"He's _seen_ what we can do," said Cobb, pointing at Saito. "And now you're endorsing this? This new venture of his is going to do more harm than good. You can't shut down an entire line of work. There are consequences for that kind of thing."

Cobb might have said something else, something in a less guarded tone. Here was the person he'd thought he could trust, standing between him and his future, and they were acting like he was the one who'd completely lost it. He looked around the room, trying to see one single person who understood the truth in his words, but there was no such response. Suddenly, fear swept over Cobb, as he realized that he was alone. These people were not his friends. He'd been careless to let his guard down to them. There was danger here. There was conspiracy. He was going to have to fight his way out. That much was clear. They weren't going to let him go without a fight. He'd hijacked Saito's mind before, and they all knew he could do it again. If they were all working for Saito, they wouldn't let him leave. He was a threat.

He might have said something, if the stairs hadn't creaked, betraying another presence in the room.

Saito and Eames sighed in unison, and Cobb watched as Eames turned to the stairwell.

"Arine," he said quietly, "I know you're there."

Bare feet hit the wood floor, and there was a girl there, tall and thin, an oversized sweatshirt from Caltech draped over her shoulders. Her hair was as dark as the storm outside, and her soft, deer-like eyes scanned the occupants of the room in a cautious, questioning way.

Her eyes met Cobb's.

"Who are you?" she asked softly, staring like a deer in headlights.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames and Saito advise Cobb on a few things, and he gains some insight into their lives. It hasn't been easy for anyone.

"What's going on?" asked the girl called Arine. She floated across the room to Eames, light as a ghost, her body language displaying clear distrust of Cobb's presence.

She couldn't have been more that fifteen or sixteen, Cobb thought.

"Everything's fine," said Eames. "I promise." He put one arm around her shoulders. "This is Dominick Cobb. He's an old friend of ours."

"It's late," said Arine coldly. No wonder, Cobb thought. Friends didn't pay friendly visits so late at night, in the middle of a storm. He wondered how much of the conversation she'd overheard before she was discovered.

Saito smiled. "It is late, and Mr. Cobb has had a very long flight. He'll be staying overnight, I think. Arine, would you mind making sure the guest bedroom is all set?"

Arine didn't seem too keen on leaving.

"You're an extractor, aren't you?" she asked Cobb bluntly.

Before Cobb could confirm or deny this, Saito corrected her sharply, in a patient but firm tone that Cobb knew. He'd used it before. Except Saito spoke in Japanese, and Arine retorted in Japanese, and she switched back to English just as quickly and as easily to press a question to Eames. He shrugged and gestured for her to keep it down, pointing a finger upstairs. Arine complained in Japanese and pointed at Cobb in disbelief. Finally, satisfied, she left the room, but not with one last look in the direction of the visitors.

Something about the three-way exchange was familiar to Cobb. He wasn't sure why. It was in the unspoken mannerisms, the soft and subtle changes in tone. He swirled the coffee in the cup that was too minimalist to have been Eames' choice, leaning against the counter in the modern kitchen that was too carefully organized to have been Eames' work, in the house that echoed Saito's architectural preference through every wall and lamp and piece of furniture. He knew this style. He'd seen it an memorized for the job long ago. Except the house belonged to Eames, didn't it? Arthur had taken him here to find Eames, and they had.

And then it struck him that he understood.

"You're together," said Cobb.

Eames and Saito looked up. Cobb nodded and finished the coffee.

"I didn't know," he added. "I'm sorry. No one told me."

"Don't let it bother you," said Eames good-naturedly. "We've been trying to keep things quiet around here. It's better for the company and for the family. You're not the only one who wanted a peaceful retirement."

"How long?"

"We've been working together on Vantage ever since the Fischer job," said Eames. "But we've been married for three years."

Cobb sighed. He prided himself in his ability to read people, and yet all the people he'd thought he'd read so well were surprising him even now. Everyone had moved on, and one glance at Arthur and Ariadne told him they'd known, but chose not to tell him. No, they'd never intended for him to come here at all, to disturb what Eames and Saito seemed to have so carefully built. Were they... afraid?

Cobb suddenly lowered the hostile defenses he'd raised and realized the tension he'd brought to this place. They were all guarding themselves against him. Why? They wanted a future free from the stress of the job, and so did he, but here he was, bringing up old ghosts. They'd all respected him when he said he was done, but he'd never thought to ask if they expected the same courtesy.

_My God, why am I here?_

_What am I doing?_

Cobb leaned against a chair, steadying himself as the betrayal he'd felt, the pounding adrenaline, saw itself out. All that was left were questions. That hollow feeling he felt when he remembered dreams, the one he'd come to satisfy, was gone. Only then did he realize how he'd completely surrendered control to the feeling. He hadn't been thinking.

"I-I don't have to stay here," he stammered. "You don't have to do that for me. I could just as easily get a hotel."

"Please," said Saito. "I insist."

Eames gestured to the living room, to a beige sofa by the bookshelves, with a look of concern. No longer caring how they saw him, Cobb sat down, pressing the empty coffee cup between his hands. Behind him, he heard Arthur whisper a few words of goodbye as he and Ariadne moved towards the door. Cobb didn't turn to watch them leave. He didn't want to face Arthur. He just listened for the click of the latch, and watched Eames cross the room to sit opposite him. At first, Cobb didn't want to look up and meet his friend's eyes. At first, all he needed was a moment's quiet. He'd begun to see the cracks, and had to hold the broken pieces of himself together in some semblance of the man he'd promised to become when he'd distanced himself from them. Now, he was back, and the shame was steadily eroding whatever resolve he had left.

Something, he speculated, had happened since the restaurant. He'd come with such high expectations, and oh, how it had all fallen. He was an outsider now, and Arthur was right. He'd lost his touch.

To his relief, Eames didn't cut to what they were both thinking. He sensed the fragility of the moment and cushioned the conversation with a distraction, exactly what Cobb needed.

"Your children must be getting older."

Cobb nodded, permitting himself to smile. "Phillipa's practically a teenager now. I don't know how I'm going to handle it."

"Believe me, you won't. They'll take matters into their own hands," laughed Eames. "Arine is sixteen," he added.

"How long has she been with you?"

"About two years. Most people adopt younger, you know, but it's so hard for older kids in the system. It... felt right."

Saito joined them around the glass coffee table, and there was another pause, but more comfortable this time. The storm raged outside, but they were inside, and it was warm.

"It's funny," said Saito, "I haven't really enjoyed rain ever since..."

Cobb tipped his head in agreement, understanding. For a while, they just watched the storm through the glass wall across the room. It was better, he thought, than speaking. There was a haunting peace to it, and Cobb wondered how there could be such peace in so much chaos.

Peace, at least until a sudden flash of lighting brought an almost instant clap of thunder that shook the house to its foundation, and Cobb heard a small squeal from the stairwell. They all turned their heads, and there was Arine, scolding two younger children as she tried to drag them back up the stairs. When they realized they'd been seen, Arine groaned and cast an exasperated look at her parents.

"It's all right," said Eames. "If they're awake, they're awake."

They looked close to seven or maybe eight, Cobb thought as he watched them run across the room in pajamas, with none of their older sister's caution at the unexpected visitor. The girl jumped onto the sofa, staring at Cobb with deep brown eyes that were all but hidden under her long hair. The boy stood behind the other sofa, slightly hiding himself behind Saito, but still studying Cobb warily.

"Ren," said Eames, gesturing to the boy, "and Kaede." On hearing her name, Kaede leaned against Eames, grinning with a smile that showed a missing tooth.

Cobb raised his eyebrows. "Well you've been busy, it seems."

"We didn't want to separate siblings," Saito explained.

Giving in, Arine joined them, and they all sat around the table together. Watching, Cobb felt a slight pang as he wondered how he hadn't seen it before, this sort of warming. He saw each member of his team as a satellite, an individual with motivations and skills who could be put to use in a variety of situations. That was how they were lined up in his mind, he realized. Islands. Alone. Static. It had never occurred to him, or at least to his subconscious mind, that they could have complexities and intersections the way he did. But all the complexities were there in how these two had inexplicably gravitated to each other in a way Cobb never saw coming. But now that he saw it, he couldn't imagine it any other way. It was the way Eames leaned forward slightly when Saito spoke, eyes bright and amused, lips slightly parted. It was the way they listened to Cobb when he talked about his personal life, and Saito put his arm on the back of the couch, pressing the tips of his fingers to the back of Eames' shoulder, like that connection was the only thing anchoring him to the material world. Cobb had polarized them for so long in his mind, but somehow their shared experience had allowed for the flow of a deeper, more tender connection that seemed to completely transcend Cobb's preconceived notions.

But the small-talk couldn't last them forever, and eventually Cobb faced the wall of shattered pieces, knowing he couldn't sleep without mentioning them. Here he was, with friends, or at least allies, and he felt like he could finally speak freely. He only wished Arthur hadn't left.

"I'm sorry for yelling," he said. "Really. It's just been... it's been a weird few days."

Eames nodded to Arine with a subtle motion that she should help her siblings upstairs. She acknowledged and scooped up Kaede, taking Ren by the hand and speaking to them softly, despite their murmured protests. Once they were out of earshot, Eames spoke.

"How have you been feeling?"

"I was doing well, I think," said Cobb. "I mean, nothing was wrong for years. But then all of a sudden it was like I had to go back. I was hoping you could find me a job, but now I'm not sure if I should. I just felt this sudden _pressure_ to dream again."

"Like you just needed one more to be satisfied."

Cobb looked up. It was Saito who'd responded, leaning towards him with his hands folded in thought.

Cobb's brow furrowed. "You felt it too."

Saito smiled, more than a little sadly, Cobb thought.

"You and I," said Saito, "we both went deep when we fell. I... we lived a lifetime down there. We lost all grip on what was real and what was fake. We grew old in our own minds, and then we were torn from our reality and forced to suddenly cope with a new one. That's not natural, and I'm grateful that I was able to get help after just once, but you, Mr. Cobb. You've done this for a lifetime, relentlessly. Aren't you tired?"

"It's what I've always done," said Cobb. "I can't get tired. I can't afford to get tired. I lived and died, and I got a new chance at living, and I intend to use it."

"But are you living?"

Cobb frowned. "You forget yourself. You were a passenger through one layered dream. I've gone deeper than you could ever possibly understand."

"Yes!" said Saito. "Yes, I experienced it once. That was enough for a lifetime, because I lived a lifetime down there, and when I woke up, I thought it would all simply go away, but it doesn't. I woke up and I went home, and my life became a waking nightmare. I couldn't tell what was real, and every night I found myself trapped in that life I created. I stopped sleeping because I wasn't sure if I'd be able to wake up on my own. I became so detached and depressed that my friends didn't even recognize me anymore, and that's when I realized that I had to start Vantage Industries."

"Why?"

"Because I only went down once. But there were other people out there--people like you, Mr. Cobb--who had been trapped in this cycle of false reality for years, and kept going back. I'd seen what it could do to me, and I would never wish that on anyone else, not even my worst enemies."

Cobb sighed. He admitted to himself that, after all was said and done, he hadn't thought to check in on Saito. He hadn't even considered the effects of being trapped years in limbo, until the body had aged beyond recognition, on someone else. When Cobb had woken up there had been difficulty, yes. But he'd moved on because he'd always moved on. Saito didn't know how. Saito had never been taught.

"Mr. Cobb," he continued, "I fell apart five years ago, and I had to piece myself together alone, because no one could ever know what we'd done to Fischer. I didn't trust anyone, I was convinced that ordinary people on the street were going to try to kill me, and I lost control of my life. My brain was telling me that everything that happened was real, but I knew, and I still..." his hand idly brushed his lower shoulder over the fabric of his shirt, applying delicate pressure, as if to test it for pain or injury. 

The motion wasn't lost on Eames, and he reached out, gently removing the hand from the spot and pressing it between his. A flicker of patient empathy seemed to pass between them, and Cobb wondered how long this subtle ritual had been in practice. He briefly imagined how it might have been five years ago, when the phantom pain was still acute, and Saito had no one. Cobb, when he worked with Mal, had been injured himself on multiple occasions. Yes, even when the dream was long past, you still felt it. He remembered waking up in the middle of the night, still under its effects. But Mal had always been there to bring him back to reality and remind him that he was well. Then, when they'd returned from their shared limbo, that weakness of old age still haunted his body for weeks. Months, even. To have had to go through all that without Mal...

"I'm sorry," was all he could say. "I didn't know."

Only, he _had_ known. he should have known. He just hadn't cared, and that hurt Cobb more than anything.

"Please," insisted Eames. "Stay the night. It would be impossible to find a hotel at this hour. We have more than enough room."

"Only if it isn't any trouble."

Eames smiled. "You're not nearly as much trouble as you think you are. Don't give yourself too much credit."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With nothing left to do, Cobb starts piecing the puzzle together with some help from Eames.

Cobb's sleep was brief and dreamless, but still with that nagging feeling of unease that accompanied every night when he was at home. He didn't dream, at least not in the sense that he used to. They were more of images, or feelings that managed to press through the darkness of night and invade his subconscious. More often than not, he woke up with the ghost of an old sensation that never seemed to dissipate. When he'd first quit his job as an extractor, they were cheerful. The joy he felt at first seeing his newborn children. His wedding. The lingering memories of a nice day in the summer.

  
But as time wore on, they'd grown increasingly dark and desperate. He woke up with a chill, and the bitter, fringed edges of memories of bad experiences on the job. Not one, but two instances of inception haunted him. The quiet, secret experiment that would take so much from him, and the loud, dangerous experience that would end it all. He didn't want to remember either, but there they were, waiting for him every night.

He wanted to see Mal again in his mind, a perfect construction of memory he could touch and comprehend. He was tired of the shattered fragments that cut into his deep sleep like razors, fighting to get into a dream that never happened.

He'd been so confident that one more job would change that. That he'd enter someone's mind and she'd find him there, and they could be together for however brief a time. But there was also a doubt that plagued him. What if he went under again, and she never came for him? He'd be a slave to someone else's agenda, forced to carry out a potentially dangerous mission. No, he hadn't even considered the danger. He remembered how close he'd come to falling apart the last time, and doubted why he'd even thought about going back.

Here he was, desperate for a reality that didn't exist, risking abandonment to his children all because of the thought that there was something better for him waiting in another world. It was all too familiar, because years ago, there was Mal, on that window ledge, perched like a bird anticipating a gust of wind that would carry her away. Wasn't that what he was doing now? He was lying to himself about a reward waiting just beyond the limits of his waking mind. All he had to do was initiate the kick, and he'd be there.

Had the dream become his new reality? The thought made him shudder.

Those were the thoughts that invaded his mind as he found himself in the guest bedroom, with sunlight streaming through the windows and muffled noise from downstairs as the household woke up.

The morning routine, Cobb thought, was mesmerizing.

Everything was carefully calculated. It seemed to have fallen into a rhythm over however many years Eames and Saito had been sharing the house. Before Cobb was even awake, the children were downstairs and busy with breakfast. He was still blinking sleep away when he sat down at the table, and Saito was asking him how he wanted his eggs. He started to refuse out of blind politeness, but Saito insisted, adding humorously:

"If I don't make them, Eames will, and you don't want that."

Arine appeared, and she toasted bread for her younger siblings while balancing a book on her forearm and pouring cereal for herself. Then she disappeared and returned just as suddenly with a laptop, typing furiously between mouthfuls of cereal.

"English paper," she explained when she caught Cobb watching.

Ren, more than anyone, seemed to be completely fascinated with the visitor at the table. Not once did his eyes leave Cobb, from the moment he sat down.

"Don't stare," said Arine. "It's rude."

"I wasn't," said Ren, staring.

Cobb waited for questions about his presence. Sure, he could explain it to Arine, who seemed to already know a thing or two about his past work, but a child this age? Cobb braced himself for the worst when Ren opened his mouth to talk.

"Do you know about Minecraft?" asked Ren, wide-eyed.

"Do I... what?" Cobb blinked in surprise.

"Minecraft, with the skeletons and stuff. I have a base that I made, and on Saturday I was playing, and I was making these traps, so when the spiders try and climb up the walls, they can't. It's because there's a ledge there, and I can get on the wall and snipe them with my bow so they fall off, and I collect their eyes and it makes potions, so I can see in the dark." said Ren, not once stopping for a breath.

"I see," said Cobb, who did not.

Most fascinating to him was the way his friends seemed to have completely perfected the art of domesticity. Not in a flawless way, but in a way that misplaced dishes and talked loudly about nothing and burst into laughter at nine A.M. over an absolutely incomprehensible inside joke. His presence was all but forgotten in the rush to feed everyone and maintain controlled chaos. While he ate gratefully, he heard pans fall in the kitchen, followed almost immediately by protests from Saito and Arine for Eames to get out. More laughter. More lighthearted teasing.

It was an emotion Cobb couldn't quite place. If he had tried to name it, there would have been dozens. Relief, maybe, at seeing how they'd managed to thrive all these years together, or maybe just seeing them alive and in person, not running from anything or anyone. The feeling that he could breathe and not worry about fighting for his life. But on the edge of that relief was a grief so gentle he might have missed it. It was the pang he felt when he saw Eames' hand brush Saito's lower back in passing, as he went to assist Kaede with the cereal. That feeling that all this could have been his, if she'd only held out a little longer. If only she'd...

What would have saved Mal?

He'd been there to see the gradual build-up, the crescendo before it all collapsed. He'd seen the signs, but they were the signs of feelings they'd both experienced before in their work. He could feel it too, but he could bury it and put on a bright face for his friends and family. When it hit her, she lost that ability, but where could he have taken her? There was nowhere they could have gone that wouldn't have compromised them both. There was always an element of secrecy in matters illegal, one that made it impossible to seek out meaningful connections. Besides, the technology was new then. No one was concerned with what they might do to the mind.

Briefly, he considered Sonomi. This oasis, perfectly disguised. Eames said that they were helping people. A city that served as a constant reminder that the world one was seeing was real would have been irrefutable proof that he wasn't lying to her. There were no children for her to return to but the ones waiting at home for them. This place, it might have helped her to believe that. The thought of it tore at Cobb until he wished he'd never permitted himself to wonder.

"So you'll be leaving?" asked Eames. Not with any inflection, and not hoping for it. He seemed more concerned than anything.

Cobb shook his head. "I'm not sure I know yet."

"If you want to stay, we'll always have a place for you." Eames smiled over his coffee. "We found places for all the others."

"So I gathered from Ariadne," said Cobb. "You found yourself an architect for the real world, huh? And Yusuf?"

"He's working at the institute right now. He's not bound to us, contractually speaking, but he's an incredible help, and Saito has compensated him for his efforts."

"Doing what?"

"Mostly experimental treatments. Medicine. Stuff to ease the transition."

It was becoming increasingly apparent to Cobb how little he knew about the field he thought he was an expert in only five years ago. The serum to him was a tool, a weapon, that he could use when he needed. It was a door to open and close just as easily. He'd never given thought to what might be coming through the door when he closed it.

"There's a transition?"

"Some of the people here have been on it for most of their lives, either for work or recreationally. If you're supplementing your mind for that long, and you take it away, your brain doesn't like that." Eames tipped back the last of the coffee. "The dream becomes the new normal, and the real world becomes increasingly unfamiliar. Tell me, after the job, did you feel like you were still dreaming?"

Cobb shrugged. "I'm not sure I'd know what a dream felt like anymore. My jobs were a significant portion of my life. They're just kind of... shuffled, in there with the memories."

"It becomes indistinguishable from reality."

Cobb laughed. "Is this what you've been doing all this time? Psychology?" He wasn't as on edge as he'd been the previous night. He didn't feel like Eames was talking down to him, watching him unravel. This was more casual, in a way that Arthur and Ariadne couldn't be.

"I've been doing my homework," laughed Eames. "It's a new field, but it's new for everybody, and some day this is all going to get out in public, and we can share our research without having to worry about anyone's safety."  
Cobb considered this. Their research, and what Eames had mentioned about medication. They were trying to treat and analyze a ghost. Whatever facade Saito had built for Vantage Industries, it made no mention of dream sharing programs. They couldn't speak about the true nature of their research to anyone, and they wouldn't be able to until something changed. If the extractors were defunct, maybe then? Cobb couldn't even begin to comprehend what that might mean. If there wasn't a stigma, if there was total forgiveness of past offenses for some reason, and nothing he'd done in the past counted towards him in any way, what would he do? It was terrifying and liberating to imagine.

  
"And you're not scared?" asked Cobb. "Of being found out, I mean. If the government got their hands on this town, it would be over for you and everyone involved. Do you think it's worth your livelihood? God forbid Fischer were to learn what we did if you ended up on trial..."

"I've weighed the costs and benefits, same as everybody else. I'm comfortable with where I am. If I get found out, I'll have saved lives." Eames rolled his eyes. "Listen to me. You'd think I'd become the pope or something. Who would have thought?"

"Funny what it does to you," said Cobb, nodding at all of it. The house. The children playing loudly in the kitchen while Saito tried to keep them under control. "I guess it was the same for me. I never wanted to tie myself down to anything, but then we had our kids. It... it makes you think about what's important, doesn't it?"

Eames nodded solemnly. "I don't know what I'd do if I was ever arrested. It's a lot to think about, so I try not to. It's better to be here, in the moment."

There was a pause. Eames gazed into the kitchen, his smile falling slightly.

"If he'd just moved on, none of us would be in danger," he added quietly, watching Saito. "He didn't, though, and now here we are. He didn't want anyone else to have to go through what he did. Now if anything comes up, he'll get it the worst of all of us. Just one trip, and he'll probably be looking at a life sentence... at the least. I did dozens, but he would have it the worst."

"He knew exactly what he was risking when he hired us," Cobb pointed out. "He knew that there would be consequences if anyone found out."

Eames nodded. "But there never would have been if he'd just moved on."

Suddenly, there was a pounding of footsteps on the stairs, and Arine appeared. In one hand, she held the old phone Cobb had found in the package at the hotel. It was buzzing.

"Mr. Cobb," she said, "I think it's Arthur."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cobb snaps. He isn't sure why, but something's wrong.

Arthur stood outside the house, leaning against the hood of the car, phone in hand. Cobb shut the door behind himself and walked down the front steps.

"You rang?"

Arthur nodded. "I thought I'd offer myself as a ride, just in case you needed to get back to the airport."

Cobb hesitated.

"You're leaving, right?" Arthur tilted his head slightly, expectantly.

"I'm not sure."

Silently, Arthur opened the passenger door of the car, waving his friend in. He took his place behind the wheel, and for a moment, they just sat there, not saying a word.

"I'm not sure," repeated Cobb. "I don't want to stay here, but I can't... I can't go back yet."

Arthur sighed. "I'm sorry if I put you on the spot yesterday. I was concerned, and I let it get to my head. You know how I am. You, of all people, know how I am."

Cobb chuckled. "No, if anyone should be apologizing, it's me. You were being fine, but I was the one who provoked you."

"We both said things we shouldn't have."

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Okay," said Cobb. "So we can move on, then. I'd rather we moved on and forgot about it. It's good to see you again."

Arthur smiled. It was the first real, natural smile Cobb had seen since arriving in the city, and he was comforted by it. A glimpse of the old Arthur, before the last job, before anything, when they were young and reckless.

"It's good to see you too," said Arthur, starting the car. "I'd say I missed you, but you'd get a complex or something."

He pulled out of the driveway, and they started back down the hill road through the forest. It was sunny now, and light cascaded through the trees instead of sheets of rain. Picturesque, Cobb thought, as he leaned back in the seat and enjoyed the view. His luggage was all still at the house, so Arthur wouldn't be taking him to the airport, and yet they were going somewhere. Where were they going? Honestly, Cobb didn't care. It was nice, the car and the quiet. He'd never felt pressured to keep up a conversation when it was just himself and Arthur, because he knew they both preferred silence.

"So," he said after a while, "Eames and Saito, huh?"

"I trust you met the rest of the clan?"

"That I did," laughed Cobb. "Did you... I mean, did they mention it at all? I know it's been five years, but I've never been so surprised, and I've seen some surprises in my time."

"I've been in close contact with Eames ever since the job," said Arthur. "When he signed on with Vantage Industries, I was the first one he told. I was the first one to know about their plans to get married, too."

"That would have been a wedding to see." Cobb shot him a mischievous glance. "Were you groomsman? Did they spare no expense? With Saito's funds, I can't imagine."

Arthur shook his head. "Actually, there wasn't a wedding in that sense. This was long after Saito had disappeared, you see. We all had to keep our heads down. So no, I didn't give a toast or anything, but I was there as a witness."

"Shame. You're good at toasts."

"Believe me, it was tempting."

"I don't mean that though," said Cobb. "I wasn't wondering if they'd told you. I meant, did you _know?_ Emotionally, did you see it coming? If I had to pick two people-"

"I don't always know what I know, Dom," Arthur laughed as he turned the car towards the city, onto the main highway. "When we went down there, the job, I mean, everyone was looking out for each other, y'know? That's what we always have to do. We watch each other's six. I always felt responsibility for the other team members. Hell, I dragged you all into an elevator and had to make artificial gravity. I know you felt the same. Eames, I guess, felt that same responsibility for Saito, especially after he got hurt. You saw how he was."

Cobb nodded. He did remember, in the fragments of the dream he permitted himself to recall. Eames didn't lose his cool easily, but after that first attack, when everything started to fall apart, Eames doubled down on his energy, his determination. Cobb had seen it, but he hadn't considered that it might have been Saito. He'd expected everyone to see Saito the same way he'd seen him that fateful day. Saito was weight on the efficiency of the team. As much as Cobb hated to admit it, he'd never been able to see Saito as anything but a benefactor and a liability. He'd assumed the rest of them carried that same attitude. But looking back, Eames was different. Eames had risen to the occasion when Saito went down, suggesting ideas and improvising to find new, creative ways to wrap up the job as quickly as possible. The willingness to cooperate with Cobb's plan to trick Fischer at the hotel. Then, there was the hospital. Cobb realized how much he'd left to Eames in his absence, but Eames hadn't buckled under the stress. Cobb had always thought it was the promise of pay, or the accomplishment of the impossible. These were the shallow pursuits he pinned on Eames' character. Had it never been about the reward? Had Eames been doubling his efforts to compensate for Saito? Had he been protecting him?

"I guess," mumbled Cobb.

"Well they were looking out for each other in the dream. I saw it. Eames just started taking care of him, and then we all woke up and we were supposed to go our separate ways and all, but they never _stopped_ looking out for each other. I think you would have understood if you'd seen it. It was like it just became a routine for them."

"Huh," said Cobb.

They turned to the city, and from there, the main road with all the parks and businesses, with the other seventy percent of the population blissfully oblivious to the ex-thieves living in their midst. Cobb caught sight of that clock tower again, piercing the sky over the main street and casting a long shadow against the mirrored windows of a car insurance firm. Behind that, some kind of modern city hall with pillars and flags and mottoes written up the side of the structure in colorful letters, like an urban mural. Now that he noticed it, there were a lot of murals. Text from famous poems wound up the sides of buildings like creeping ivy. He hadn't been in an urban setting in a while, so he'd forgotten the normal amount of murals a city ought to have, exactly, but Cobb was certain that this was more than average. Just as he opened his mouth to ask about it, Arthur spoke.

"Do you like the art?" Arthur asked.

"I was just noticing the... plentiful installations."

"Ever try to read in a dream?"

Cobb sighed, understanding. It was all part of the secret infrastructure. Words here and there, scattered at the bus stations and climbing the walls. They were so subtle that an ordinary person might not notice anything but a colorful, modern city, but he knew.

"They really thought of everything, didn't they?" he said.

"They've been working on it for a while. It's actually quite impressive how much consideration they have to the infrastructure. I was a skeptic at first, but then I saw it. I brought you here because I thought you might at least like a tour before you left."

"I would like that," said Cobb. "I would like that very much, actually.

And so Arthur showed him.

On the surface, the city could proudly call itself inclusive, Arthur said. It had won awards for the unique design that provided accessibility to people with often overlooked mental challenges. Any one of the things incorporated into the design could also be contributed to assistance for someone with an anxiety disorder, or like Ariadne had said, schizophrenia. Everything served as a reminder of safety and reality. Arthur said that since the recent construction, a lot of people who weren't extractors, but who suffered similar symptoms, had moved in. The research was groundbreaking in more fields than one.

Then there were the boxes, like the one Cobb had seen only the previous night, with the cyan lights. For immediate assistance, explained Arthur. If someone had a panic attack, one button press would have social workers or volunteers in the area in under five minutes.

The fountains, as Cobb had suspected, were randomized for grounding.

And as they drove through the heart of the city, under an overpass where a train carried people to work, Arthur told him about the technology.

Beyond just the tools and medication, there was handheld software from Vantage that provided the most assistance of all. It was the first thing Saito had created after his false retirement. Designed for a phone or a watch, it could provide hourly reminders to check your surroundings and remind yourself where you were. It could track medication. It could provide coping strategies for certain symptoms and destructive habits. More than anything, the software was what was changing lives.

"Like I said," said Arthur, "I was a skeptic. We had these strategies in place for so long, totems and stuff, and I thought, 'how can a computer know me better than I know me?' But it's not like that. It's a jarring transition at first, because you've kept this stuff to yourself for so long. It felt wrong talking about it to anyone, even a computer program, but I was able to fix problems I didn't even know I had. You know, months after I finished working, I was still having days where I just didn't believe I was in the real world. I was convinced I was still dreaming, which was ridiculous, because I thought I was fine. So I got a newer phone and got the app, and I started logging when I was having episodes, and it turns out it was all connected to music. You remember how we used to do the warning before the kick, right?"

Cobb nodded. "I do remember."

"Well, I'd hear music on the street or something, and I wouldn't even realize that it was initiating that same response in my brain. Then I'd go home and start dissociating. I hadn't even made the connection until I started putting it into the software. Crazy, right?"

Cobb blinked. "You didn't even know you were regressing?"

"Nope. It's... it's all this neurological stuff. It's insane. You'd think that after all my years of going in and out of people's minds, I'd know a thing or two about how they work. You think all your thoughts are yours, and it turns out your brain is doing stuff without your permission. I'm just glad I fixed it when I did. I can't imagine never being able to listen to Vivaldi again without zoning out completely."

Cobb was silent, thinking. He thought about things he hadn't allowed himself to even consider in a while. Arthur had always been so calm and collected, or as much so as Arthur could be. The fact that he could be experiencing things under the surface that no one could see troubled Cobb. He hated the idea that someone could be suffering in silence and lying to his face, especially Arthur. But wasn't that what he himself was doing? He'd come to Sonomi with a facade, and it had failed miserably. All his friends saw right through him. He'd given himself so much credit for keeping it together, but now that he was out in the world, he could see how little he'd really controlled.

"I guess I never thought it could be this serious," he muttered, shaking his head. "We went into the dream, we went out of the dream. It used to be that simple. What happened to that?"

Arthur shook his head. "It was never that simple."

"I thought... I thought I could fight back, I guess. I thought that maybe, if I didn't let myself think about it ever again, it would go away. But you know how it is. I still see Mal. I still have nightmares. I don't know how I have nightmares if I can't even _dream_ anymore. You know when you wake up and you're still feeling things you don't want to feel, but you never actually saw anything in your dream? You just wake up feeling _wrong?_ "

"I promise you you're not the first person who's felt like that," said Arthur.

For a moment, but only a moment, Cobb was tempted to give in. Here he was, and here was Arthur offering him every possible reason to drop his defenses and admit that he wasn't fine. He wasn't okay. He'd feared he was broken in ways he couldn't possibly understand, and every word from Arthur only confirmed his fear, but what to do about it? Would he let himself do anything? To even think about it for too long went against everything his experience-gathered instincts told him. All the same, he ached for something he couldn't quite reach. The relief of admitting that he couldn't do it on his own.

"There's the hotel," said Arthur, pointing up at a taupe structure as they passed under another bridge. "If you'd rather not stay with Eames again, I could..."

Cobb didn't hear what Arthur said. His eyes only lingered on the hotel, with its rows and rows of windows all done in a vaguely vintage style. Windows. Windows. He stared up at it and his stomach dropped at the height, the way it pierced the sky, and suddenly he didn't hear anything. There was only him and the hotel, and the drop from any one of those windows to the ground.

"Cut it out," he growled.

"What?" Arthur stopped mid-sentence, not that Cobb had been listening.

"I said _cut it out_. Stop trying to prove you know any of this better than I do. I worked with you for years, and you failed just as hard and often as I did, so stop acting like I'm the one who needs to get it together."

The words came out a little harsher than Cobb intended. In fact, he wasn't even sure he'd intended them at all. It was like one moment, he was himself, and the next, he had to say it. He wasn't sure why, and it wasn't like there was any relief in shouting at Arthur, but it was too late to take it back. The outburst had boiled over faster than he'd seen it coming.

Just as suddenly as he'd opened his mouth, Arthur hit the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road, making the car screech a little on the pavement.

"All right," said Arthur, "say it. What happened to you?"

"Arthur, I'm sorry. I-"

" _No_ ," said Arthur firmly. "Look at me. I know you better than that. What happened."

"Nothing. I didn't mean it. It's just been a stressful few days. Listen to me, Arthur."

"Dom, what's wrong with you?"

 _"I don't know what's wrong with me, okay?"_

The words burst out of Cobb's chest, as hard as he tried to hold them back. He couldn't. He was tired, and he couldn't. It just ached everywhere. It ached in his chest and down his spine, and in his jaw where he always held tension. but now there was a burning unfamiliar to him, one he hadn't felt in a while. It burned in the corners of his eyes, and in his throat, where it seemed to expand until he couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. He could only stifle the shallow gasps with his hand, suffering under the influence of strange emotion.

"Hey." Arthur had lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. "Look, I didn't mean to-"

"I don't know what's wrong with me," repeated Cobb, choking on the words, "and I don't want to be told."

"You're right. I shouldn't have pried into it."

"No I'm not. I'm not right. Nothing's right. I can't sleep and I can't even talk to anyone anymore. It's wrong. Why can't I... Oh God, Arthur... I don't know what's wrong with me."

He shut his eyes tightly, burying his face in his hands, unable to face it. He was content there, in a pained way. The weight of everything seemed to crash down full-force, and Cobb found piece in that. There was comfort in the crushing. He might never have opened his eyes again, he thought, if he hadn't felt the hesitant touch on his shoulder. Hesitant, but steady. Knowing.

"Dom," said Arthur. "I'm not going to force you into anything, but I want to help. Will you permit me?"

Cobb nodded, almost imperceptible amid his shaking.

"Thank you," said Arthur. He moved his touch from Cobb's shoulder to his wrist, gently guiding the hands from his face, where Cobb seemed to be trying to suffocate himself somehow. He lingered with his hand there for another moment, before letting go and returning his attention to the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued reading and support! I'm trying to finish this within the week.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cobb goes for a walk with Arthur and meets some new people. Not much is said, and then everything is said.

Cobb expected it all to fall apart then and there. Arthur was never one to put things off until later when now would do, and yet they spoke nothing of what had happened in the car. In fact, they hardly spoke at all.

Arthur took him around the city like nothing had happened, pointing out landmarks and features. Then, there was a light lunch, and Arthur talked about nothing particularly important. He laughed about the California weather. He told anecdotes about various characters he'd met in his recent travels. He made fun of Eames in a lighthearted way, as usual. He was so normal, it made Cobb uneasy. Cobb knew there was no way to hide it, the way the past was eating away at him. Arthur had seen it. So why didn't Arthur confront him?

Cobb waited for the intervention, for the discussion to turn serious, but it didn't. It was just him and Arthur, sitting at a restaurant downtown. Then it was him and Arthur strolling on the sidewalks, being comfortably tourist-y.

Then they were at the park again, with the fountain that danced, and the sky was growing dim with a sepia haze. The lights came on all around them, casting their mesmerizing, dream-like glow over the park and its pathways. There were tennis courts and people with dogs, and children running around, tumbling on the cool grass.

Arthur paused in the middle of rambling about public transportation to check his watch. He sighed a little.

"I have one more stop to make," he said.

"Oh," said Cobb.

"I'd like you to come with me," said Arthur. Then, when he saw the hesitant look on his friend's face, "it won't take long, I promise. I just have to meet with some friends."

Arthur laughed, almost sweetly, putting his hands in his pockets as he continued along the path, under the glowing trees. Cobb didn't like this blatant ignorance of what had happened earlier, but he didn't question it. He didn't want to face the facts. There would be relief, he thought, but the relief wouldn't come easy. There would be pain like he'd only felt a few times before, and he was in no mood to feel it again. Still, the waiting was almost worse. Waiting for Arthur to say something, to force the truth out of him. He was not fine. He was not fine. He was losing his grip, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on.

He hated to speak, but he hated the silence. He'd always hated silence, especially when he was the one expected to fill it. He clenched his jaw.

After what felt like an eternity of silent walking, Arthur spoke again.

"Back there," he said, "in the car. You remembered her, didn't you?"

Cobb sighed. He'd feared this.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, but I know what that must be like. I'm guessing... you don't go to hotels anymore. You didn't want to stay because you didn't want to stay at a hotel."

"I'm fine with staying at hotels," grumbled Cobb impatiently. "How do you think I got here?"

"But you'd prefer not to."

Cobb made no reply.

Arthur sighed. "It's not that I'm annoyed with you or anything. You know I couldn't be annoyed with you after everything. It's just that I wish you'd tell me. I promise nothing bad would happen if you just told me. Honestly, that hurts more than anything. It's not your fault, but I wish I was the kind of person you felt like you could tell. I'm sorry that I haven't been."

"Arthur, I-"

"No." Arthur held up a hand to silence him. "I really should have checked in. We just all left you to your own devices and never came back to wonder if you were doing okay."

"You did, because that's what I asked you to do," said Cobb. "I was confident in my ability to jump right back into life and handle it on my own. How was I supposed to know that it wasn't going to be that simple? I certainly couldn't have expected you to know that. We'd never left before. Everything after that job was new territory for me. In fact, I feel like everything just been constantly changing since Mal... well, since everything fell apart. I'm just running around collecting pieces, and nothing seems to fit. It's like a puzzle, expect there's no color or pictures, and all the pieces look wrong."

Arthur smiled. "Well, you're not the only one I've met who's said it like that."

"It's just, I could feel like something wasn't quite right, and I came here expecting everyone to feel the same," said Cobb. "But you're all doing so well. Ariadne and Yusuf have new jobs, Saito and Eames have an entirely new life, and then there's you."

"What about me?" Arthur looked puzzled.

"You're just so... you. I half expected to find you broken and insane like me, and here you are, like nothing ever happened. It's a damn miracle. You're just so... well, you've always been."

"I've always been what?" Arthur laughed, and his eyes seemed to sparkle a certain way in the fading light.

"I don't know," said Cobb. "But you've always been, and I can never seem to be."

Arthur opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something important, but stopped himself, looking down in what might have been shame if it hadn't passed so quickly. For a second, Cobb felt a pang of guilt, like he'd done something to upset him. That was well within the realm of possibility. Cobb was well aware of how upsetting he'd been over the past few days. Ariadne was aloof, and Eames and Saito could shake him off easily, with more important things to worry about, but Arthur was too close. Their relationship ran deep, and while it had held firmly over time, it seemed to Cobb that Arthur felt everything he said more acutely. It was a bittersweet empathy.

For a moment, they said nothing, because there was nothing to be said. For the first time, Cobb found himself enjoying the silence, willing it to stretch to an eternity. It was the most comfortable silence he'd felt in a while, not because it spoke volumes, but because volumes had already been spoken, and all they could do was rest and try to understand what had been said. Questions had been presented. He studied Arthur's face like he expected to find the answers there, and Arthur didn't look away.

He found himself studying Arthur like he was a book. A text that was both baffling and enlightening. There might have been a universe of knowledge there, if Cobb could simply understand it. But as he studied, he noticed that that wasn't the way Arthur was looking back.

The way Arthur looked at him, he might have been a painting.

"It must be getting late," said Cobb, finally, though he hated himself for breaking in. "You wouldn't want to keep your friends waiting."

"I wouldn't," said Arthur, with a twinge of disappointment.

***

There was a community center in the park, and the end of the long, concrete path through the grass. It shone brightly like a cut gem that night, with big windows and sharp angles. Arthur opened the doors, and a gust of wind carried them into a bright lobby, with statues and ceiling lamps that hung low like the boughs of trees.

Cobb let the carpet remove the evening dew from his shoes and followed close behind Arthur as he led him across the room and down a hall, pausing only to wave at a custodian and a parks employee behind a desk. The air was sharp with artificial fresheners and window cleaner, and Cobb might have been uneasy, if Arthur hadn't seemed so confident. He strode down the hall and stopped at a door marked with a silver number three. Two quick knocks, and he opened the door.

It was a small room alive with people and conversation. Books lined the walls on almost all sides, except for a big wall of windows looking out over the garden. There were lounge chairs strewn around the place, mostly facing the room's center, and on the far wall was a table of food and drinks. Something about it reminded Cobb of the hotel he'd only recently visited, but the atmosphere was completely different.

From the moment he walked in, several pairs of eyes had caught sight of the new face, and smiled at him like he'd gained some overnight celebrity without knowing it. Without realizing, he found himself unconsciously drifting behind Arthur, startled by the sudden crowd.

"You've got a lot of friends," he whispered.

"It's fine." Arthur laughed softly. "They're all here for the same reason you are."

Cobb didn't have time to ask what that reason was. He just found himself thrust into the crowd, trailing loosely behind Arthur.

The clock on the far wall announced the hour, and someone whistled. The room went a little bit quieter, and people found chairs, still talking and laughing. Cobb counted twelve. No, fifteen. There were fifteen besides Arthur and himself, and they talked like they were familiar. Like they'd done this so many times before. He felt a hand on his back as Arthur steered him towards a nearby seat. This ritual of chairs in a messy oval and laughter and plastic cups with flavored water. It was a sort of beautiful chaos.

And suddenly, he found them all looking at him expectantly. Of course. Here, at whatever party Arthur had been throwing in this community center, they'd know a new face, and there was nowhere to hide. He controlled his breathing and glanced at Arthur for help, a cue, anything to suggest what he was supposed to do.

There had to be an introduction, Cobb guessed, with one look from the group. This made him suddenly uneasy. He didn't know a thing about these people or what they wanted, but they expected a name for his face. He wasn't in the practice of giving it freely. He glanced at Arthur. One word, or one look to tell him that he needed to use an alias. That was all he needed.

Arthur didn't give him any such look. All that was there was sincerity, and sincere expectations.

"I'd like to introduce my friend Dominick," said Arthur, not breaking their brief eye contact, nodding as if to reassure him. "He's visiting and I thought he might want to sit in on one of our little gatherings."

A murmur of welcome passed around the circle. Cobb looked around out of pure curiosity, and found all sorts of people who couldn't have been more different. There were younger ones and some who looked closer to forty or fifty. Sitting next to him was a woman with long hair, grayed at the roots, with deep lines around the eyes of an otherwise youthful face. She sat cross-legged on the chair, nodding politely at him. It was hard, Cobb noted, to pin an age on any of them. The young ones looked older across the eyes.

Arthur, who seemed to be in some sort of leadership position, nodded at the woman to begin introductions for Cobb's sake. She smiled and uncrossed her legs.

"Well," she said cheerfully, "my name is Yuna. This is my third year living in Sonomi, and my most recent achievement is that I no longer have to carry my totem with me when I go to work."

The circle burst into quiet but sincere applause, and Yuna grinned. Suddenly, Cobb was putting pieces together in his mind. The introduction passed down the circle, and more achievements hung in the air.

A man named Finn spoke up. "Seven years ago, I was doing a job and driving for some coworkers in the dream. I got in a bad crash, and I wasn't able to drive for the longest time after that, even though I knew it wasn't real. Just last week, I bought myself a new car, and I took it for a drive in the hill country. Next week, I'm going to be teaching my seventeen-year-old how to drive it."

A man named Jameson. "In a month I'm going to be flying to Colorado for my sister's wedding. I haven't flown since I quit my old job, but I'm not actually dreading it."

A woman named Rosa. "I'm finally on medication, and I'm doing much better. I'm able to focus on my job and hobbies, and I don't mind being in crowds anymore. It's a lot better."

And they all laughed about it like it was nothing, like this happened every day, and Cobb understood.

_They're all extractors._

He glanced at Arthur, and Arthur smiled as he leaned over in his chair. Yes, all fifteen people in the room were extractors, or they had been once. Now, they talked about it like it was no longer part of their lives. They'd moved on, and despite these setbacks they talked about, they were still moving forward. It was the strangest thing. They moved quickly to swapping stories, telling each other about their weeks like a group of casual friends. So casual, in fact, that Cobb forgot what they all had in common.

That is, until an older woman spoke.

Her name was Aniyah, and she carried herself confidently and proudly, but when she shared her story, he wondered how she could even be there at all. No, nothing about Aniyah's appearance reflected her recent past. She smiled and spoke, and everyone listened.

Aniyah was an extractor for a foreign agency that worked out of South Africa for a while. She'd been tasked with the theft of a valuable business venture from a wealthy oil tycoon, not too unlike Cobb's last few jobs. Aniyah was one of an elite team of three; herself, her college friend, and her brother, a talented architect.

Their mark had been trained, not too unlike Fischer, and they were forced to suddenly re-evaluate their approach or they would lose everything. They tried to get away and regroup, but their mark's subconscious found them and regained control of the dream, moving his mind into a lucid state. He trapped them in their own dream and tortured them for weeks on end, depriving them of food and water and beating the information out of them. They couldn't go anywhere. They couldn't die. They just had to remain there and undergo the pain. Aniyah lasted, but her friend snapped and admitted who they were working for. The mark found out that it was Aniyah's friend who was dreaming, and kept him hostage, killing both Aniyah and her brother and trapping them in limbo.

They were there for years. They forgot reality and made an entirely new life. She watched herself and her brother get old. She might never have woken up if he hadn't been paranoid. It was Aniyah's brother who eventually convinced her to risk everything and jump off a building. She didn't believe him, but they woke up, and miraculously, they escaped and went off the grid for a while to avoid capture.

Aniyah was able to move on, but her brother never did. He became so suspicious of reality, walking long walks around the city in the dead of night, always testing his life for imperfections. Aniyah wanted to get him help, but any mention of what had happened would alert their former mark of their presence. They could have life in prison, or worse, so Aniyah was quiet.

"I was quiet," she said in a low, steady voice, "all the way up until August, when he went missing. A week later, they pulled his body out of the harbor. He'd just been ranting about how he couldn't be certain... and we'd been so close for so long that he damn near had me believing him, but when I saw him lying there, I knew this world was real. I wished it wasn't, but it was real. That was my wake-up call, and I started looking for help. I didn't even want to know what ideas he might have planted deep in my mind, so I went looking, and that's how I got my house here and my counselor. Now I've got a wife and three beautiful kids, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

The group politely acknowledged it, but it baffled Cobb. They named names and spoke freely. There had _always_ been a catch. Even when he'd been in the company of others before, the goal was the profit. Always the profit. he remembered Faulkner, and didn't doubt for a moment that she would sell him out if it came to it. There was a time when he didn't trust anyone. He'd even been uneasy around Arthur, as hard as it was to believe, but here, Arthur had created a sphere of safety, where words could be said and forgotten at no loss.

"I know how you must feel," he suddenly found himself saying, almost against his will.

Aniyah and Arthur turned, surprised. Aniyah smiled sadly.

"You lost someone," she said with a knowing look.

He nodded. "It was... a very long time ago. At least it feels that way, but I still remember it."

And carefully, cautiously, he unraveled the story. He recalled all of the details that had piled up and were pressing on his mind, and confessed. He saw them as they played out in his mind, all the things he wished he could forget. Scraps of fabric. Curtains. Shattered glass. Small changes in mannerisms that he should have seen, but never believed, really. The group hung on his every word, but he found that he couldn't bear to look at them. That heaviness was back, choking him and trying to stifle the words he never thought he'd say. He kept his eyes on his hands, and when he raised them, he could only look at Arthur. Everything was spiraling. There had to be something familiar. There was Arthur.

He finished, and there was a silence. Stunned. Heavy. Mourning. He expected to be completely overcome with fear, now that everything was on the table. These people knew everything about him and where he'd come from. But he was shocked by how good he felt. Yes, there was emptiness, but a bittersweet emptiness like something that wasn't supposed to be there had gone, and only he remained.

He remained, and they whispered encouragement. Aniyah nodded. Yuna, in the chair next to him, rested her head on her wrist and said something, but he didn't quite hear it. He felt good. He felt good. It was a bizarre euphoria. There was grief in the room, but everyone held a piece of it. The nods around the circle told him that there had been other losses, other terrible ghosts of memories, and they were gone. There was trouble and terror and betrayal in the world, but it wasn't here.

"Thank you," was all Arthur said, with an encouraging smile that solaced Cobb in a strange way. "Thank you for sharing."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the end, or the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading this! I hope you enjoy the ending.

The wind had carried whatever was left of the humid day's air away and replaced it with something cooler and less heavy, and they walked under the trees outside the community center, past a fountain that pulsed.

There was something inexplicably comfortable about it, Cobb thought. He'd felt alien before, uneasy, but now there were people he had seen, with faces and lives and experiences not too unlike his, and suddenly everything was ordinary. It wasn't another planet. It was a city, and it was safe.

But now it was late, and their meeting was over, and there was nothing left to do or say. Everything he'd wanted to say had been said, so why did he feel wrong? It was like something was still pressing against his psyche, desperate to be voiced.

But what was there left to say?

He remembered that he'd be going soon. It wasn't that he'd overstayed his welcome--everyone here seemed to want him to stay longer, but he couldn't. After this, there was only his house and what was left of his family. He had to go back and settle into the rhythm of things again, the words off his chest. But how long would it last? There was this peace he'd found, like the relief of being done with his old life, but even that hadn't lasted. He wasn't sure how much longer he could go on like this.

To go home was to isolate again, and never see any of these people. These people he'd taken for granted, assuming they'd thrown all memory of him to the wind, but they hadn't. They were just waiting, and they'd found each other along the way. They'd fit themselves together and built a bigger, stronger structure of life that wouldn't shatter so easily. And he'd thought the key to survival was to run away, to hide. But here they were, out in the open, and they were alive, _living_.

"You're being quiet," said Arthur.

"Just thinking."

"Oh?"

"What am I going to do?" Cobb shrugged and stared up in the general direction of the sky. There were stars out. "I should really go back home now, but..."

"Right." Arthur nodded. "Your stuff is still at Saito's. Man, it's late. You're right."

"No, that's not what I meant."

"I'm sure they wouldn't mind letting you stay an extra night if you asked. You wouldn't have to explain anything. We could even-"

"That's not what I meant either," Cobb sighed. "Look, I know what I'm going to do tomorrow, and maybe even Thursday, but I'm talking about after that. _Years_ after that. I can't... it's just weird how I... you know."

"You have your family."

"I'm not sure if I'm fit for that. I thought I was doing fine, but look at what happened. Look at me, Arthur. I'm a mess. I couldn't even keep myself under control and move on from the past, and now I'm here."

"But you're going to be okay," Arthur pointed out calmly. "You're going to stop isolating yourself, and you're going to be fine."

"Am I? How do I know I won't just go home and start this cycle all over again?" Cobb's tone turned bitter. "What if next time I don't have the sense to come find you? What if I get involved with some people still in the business who don't-"

"Care about your well-being?" Arthur laughed, but quickly stopped when he noticed that his humor fell flat. He sighed. "You... don't have to go back."

"I need to. I have kids."

"No, I meant back to where you were emotionally, and your house. I'm amazed you've kept it. That place must have a lot of ghosts for you."

"It's not as bad as that."

"But it can't be doing you any good either. Why don't you start over and move somewhere new? I'm not trying to sell you on Sonomi or anything, but we have a lot of new real estate, and I know some people with influence. Anything you need..."

"I can't be here," said Cobb.

Arthur's expression turned perplexed.

"I'm not like the rest of you. I wasn't built into this place." Cobb shook his head. "I disrupted everyone just by coming here. If I moved, and you all had to accommodate me, it would be unbearable."

"It's not any trouble, you know."

"Don't lie to me like that," said Cobb, smiling sadly. "Don't pretend it wouldn't mess everything up. I have a feeling that it's going to take more than a few weekly meetings to fix whatever's wrong in my head."

Arthur frowned, and then glanced over across the park suddenly.

"Come with me," he said.

"What?"

Arthur silently strode down the path in the dim glow of night, gesturing again for Cobb to follow. So he did. He followed along the concrete, past the rows of trees, to another area for gathering. An area with stone benches and a fountain in the middle that didn't rise and fall, but poured in a steady stream over an artistic structure carved in black marble, smooth as anything, bent and warped in a strange way.

Cobb recognized it. A Moebius strip. A single side, but two-sided. Paradoxical, but achievable. He hadn't seen one in ages. It was a simple tool beginning architects practiced with.

And all around the fountain, columns in the same dark marble, carved with the small writing he'd only seen in war memorials. Words. Names. Hundreds. Thousands.

The silver plaque in front of the fountain said, simply, _In Memory of the Lost_.

 _The lost_.

He stepped closer to one of the columns. Yes, there were names, but only first names, as if to protect identity. _Miguel. Gregory. Jasmine. Killian. Avery. Louis_. Each in a simple, ordinary font, almost hidden in the shine of the lights.

Arthur stood in front of an opposite column, his hands in his pockets, reading.

"We asked for names," he said, "when people started coming for help. That lady, Aniyah, had the idea, and the Saito household graciously financed it. I thought we might have twenty or thirty, but it was so much worse than I imagined."

Cobb stared at him, stunned, silent.

Arthur reached up to trace some of the letters softly. "You think you don't belong here, but you do. In fact, you belong here more than I do. I guess I'm lucky. I don't have a connection to anyone on this wall, but..."

Cobb quickly walked to where Arthur stood and stared at the names.

"Who are they?" he whispered urgently.

"Anyone who lost their grip on reality and succumbed to the lie of the dream."

Arthur's fingers traced lightly up to the next line, and then the next, and finally came to rest over a familiar pattern just below eye level.

Cobb released his breath.

_Mallorie._

_"_ Arthur," he gasped. "You didn't-"

"Look at me," said Arthur firmly, and Cobb did.

"Arthur, I-"

"Dominick, there's always going to be a place for you here, and I want you to take it. Don't try to deny that you belong here. It's not that you don't belong, it's just that you won't let yourself. Listen to me." He turned, looking into his friend's eyes with determination to be heard. "There will _always_ be a place for you here."

Cobb felt a tightness constricting his throat.

"No lies," said Arthur earnestly, smiling, placing a hand on Cobb's shoulder. "No tricks this time. Just me. I don't want to have to put another name on the wall."

Cobb nodded, not saying anything out of fear of the unsteadiness in his voice. Instead, with one quick movement, he closed the space between them and understood. How long they remained there, in the light of the fountain, he didn't know. He wasn't certain of anything anymore.

"And you won't," he said finally, reluctantly pulling away with a smile just short of overjoyed. He knew he was still a mess, but there was time to fix that, and they stayed like they had all the time in the world. "I want to stay here. I don't want to go back to the way things were."

Arthur nodded, his eyes sparkling.

"I've always been a slow learner," said Cobb, "but if you'd help, I think I could understand. I want to get better."

There was a silence, as fleeting as a breath, before Arthur leaned in again and embraced him in complete and total relief, like he'd been waiting for this for a long time. And as he stood there, the side of his face resting comfortably and warmly against Cobb's, he spoke again in a whisper.

"Nothing would make me happier." _  
_


End file.
